


Hindsight

by CinnamonBurns



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2020-10-25 10:15:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 43
Words: 321,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20722547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonBurns/pseuds/CinnamonBurns
Summary: I was gutted by season 8 of Game of Thrones. I decided to write a fanfic about it, imagining if Daenerys had a vision about all that was to come. I chose her because I feel like, as badly wrecked as other characters were in S8, she really got it the worst and had the most losses. And she had such a dream before and Daenys Targaryen dreamed of the Doom of Valyria. This is mostly her POV, a few others. I also added things here and there because I would have liked to see the scenes (like why did Arya and Daenerys not have one conversation? I was annoyed by that and so they will meet in this fic). Mostly show canon unless additional info or characters are needed. Starts at the beginning of S7, some scenes start out like the ones in the show but then change, because if Dany knows from her dream that some act will bring disaster she’ll do something else. Feedback is deeply appreciated and more than welcome. Please be as gentle as you can! If you hate Daenerys you will not like this story. But I’m trying to be gentle with all the characters. Well, most of them. Trying to ascribe good motives as much as possible. I do not own these characters or story. Everything here belongs to George R.R. Martin, D.B. Weiss, David Benioff, HBO.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Opens at Dragonstone, the morning after that storm when Daenerys talks to Varys, Melisandre, etc. Daenerys has a dream about everything that happens after.  
Makes decisions based on avoiding that horror.  
I saw some fics that mentioned beta, and I’m guessing that’s an editing process but I have no idea how to go about getting this ‘beta’d’ so please bear with me.  
I hope you all enjoy it!

Chapter One 

“You are my Queen. Now and always”.

He wrapped his arms around her and then his mouth was on hers, and everything fell into place. For the first time, maybe ever, she was home, truly home. The pain of isolation, loneliness, slipped away as she knew that they had both had terrible losses, but they would rebuild. Her heart felt so full of love, she thought it might burst. _It hurt._

Sudden and terrible pain sliced into her, searing hot...she pulled away and looked down, saw the hilt of his dagger between her ribs. 

Her eyes shot to his face, saw his eyes alight with unshed tears. His mouth moved as though he was going to say something. But no words came. He looked stricken, his arms still around her. She felt the life leaving her, felt his arms supporting her body as it fell...could hear the sound of him weeping, far away...darkness moving in to take her.

She was weeping herself now. Brokenly and with abandon. The sheets under her were soaked with sweat. She opened her eyes, and inches away from her, Missandei’s face looked grave, fierce with concern. Daenerys realized her hand was held tightly in both of Missandei’s.

Dany reached with her other hand to touch Missandei’s beloved face. 

“I thought there would be nothing,” she whispered. “But you’re here”.

“Of course I’m here, Your Grace”, Missandei assured her, and her voice, her achingly familiar voice, soothed Dany like milk of the poppy. “We’ve been worried”.

Dany attempted to sit up, and Missandei put her arm around her to assist. She looked around. This was her room, back at Dragonstone. Across the room, by the door, Grey Worm stood, and his own usually impassive features also seemed drawn and worried.

“How did you come to be here?” She asked him, rage filling her that they’d dared to kill him too.

“I come through the door,” he said, frowning. “We stay with you through the night.”

“You were screaming,” Missandei explained. “And crying. We couldn’t wake you. We thought you had been poisoned”.

“Poisoned,” Dany said bitterly. “No. I was stabbed.”

“Stabbed,” Missandei repeated in horror. She began searching Dany’s body for injury, and Grey Worm’s hand went to his weapon. 

A knock at the door startled her, and Grey Worm looked to her for leave to open it. She nodded, trying to gather her thoughts. 

_Was she the only one who knew they were dead? _

Tyrion entered the room. He too looked worried, dark circles under his eyes as if he’d barely slept, his clothes wrinkled and his hair disheveled. 

“We’ve sent a raven to have a maester brought here...” he stopped talking as he saw Dany sitting up. “You’re awake,” he said, his eyes softening in relief. “Are you in pain?”

“Oh, are you concerned about me now?” She demanded angrily.

“Well...yes. We feared you had been poisoned”. 

She stared at him, saw the glances exchanged among the three of them, concern, even fear, plain on their faces.

Could it have been a dream? A dragon dream, her family would have had called it. She’d had such a dream once, she’d dreamed of hatching her dragons when they were trapped in their petrified eggs.

“My dragons!” She exclaimed suddenly. 

“They’re outside,” Missandei supplied. “They kept flying past your window, all night. Especially Drogon. I think they knew something was wrong.”

Dany jumped from her bed and ran to the window, and sure enough, there they were, high above Dragonstone’s castle, all three of her children, alive and safe, flying around each other. She felt weak with joy, with relief. 

She turned abruptly and ran to Missandei, wrapping her in her arms and holding her tightly. 

Missandei returned the hug. “I’m glad you’re all right,” she murmured.

“I’m glad _you’re_ all right,” Dany whispered, clinging to her. She felt the tears returning. 

“I’m glad everyone is all right,” Tyrion put in. “But I’ll feel better once the maester has a look at you”.

She turned to him when she finally allowed herself to let go of Missandei.

“It’s strange...you really do seem concerned”. 

“Of course I’m concerned. You would be too, if you’d heard yourself. You were crying. Screaming at one point. You felt hot, with a fever. We were so afraid someone somewhere had slipped some Tears of Lys into your food or drink. The effects are similar. Pain, fever. Are you in pain?” He repeated his earlier question.

Dany had to remind herself not to scream at him. He couldn’t possibly remember the events of her dream. He hadn’t done anything wrong...yet. And maybe he wouldn’t.

She kept her voice level. “And that worried you,” she said, and she heard the coldness in her voice. It couldn’t be helped.

He looked crestfallen, and Missandei was studying her now. 

“Yes, Your Grace. It worried all of us”, Tyrion said. 

Dany sat back down on her bed, willing her anger at him to ease back.

He’d given her terrible counsel, but he may have made genuine mistakes, rather than intentional sabotage. She’d made mistakes, too, she reminded herself, and her heart felt heavy as she thought of the people in Kings Landing.

“_Children!” _Jon had stormed at her. “_Little children! Burned!”_

She lowered her head into her hands and felt Missandei’s hand rest on her back in silent support.

“I’m all right,” she finally said. “I’m not in pain.” _Not physical pain. _

She couldn’t forget the terrible images of her dream. Her vision. She wondered if it would be best to just go back to Essos. Forget all about that damn throne and all these treacherous people here. 

She knew now that she would never earn their love. They were ungrateful snakes, she thought angrily, who would use her until they’d used her up and then put her down like an animal who’d outlived it’s purpose.

She hated herself, because despite everything, she still wanted the throne. 

“Your allies will be here later today,” Tyrion was saying. “We could ask them to wait if you aren’t feeling up to it”.

“No”, Dany said firmly. “I’ll see them” and then: “we need to start mining the dragonglass.”

“The...what?”

“Dragonglass. Obsidian. We have a vast mine of it here. It’s best if we start right away, before he gets here.”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“Jon Snow. He’ll be here to ask for it.”

Tyrion was staring at her quizzically. _Deciding if I’m mad, _she thought bitterly.

“You think that when he gets here he’ll ask for this dragonglass?”

“Yes. Maybe he’ll send someone else this time. Maybe he’s seen, too.”

“Seen what?”

“Everything.”

**********************************

Daenerys sat alone in the war room at Dragonstone. She was trying to piece together where she’d gone so terribly wrong. How could she stop the nightmare from becoming reality?  
She could barely remember the night before, lost as she had been in a vision that had lasted for several moons. 

Her advisors were still concerned, she could see by the way they watched her. Tyrion had insisted she sit with the maester he’d summoned, who assured her that if indeed she’d been poisoned, she would still be showing signs of pain and illness. She could not explain a poison of the spirit.

She wondered again if it would be better to return to Essos, to Meereen, to Daario who had his faults, but would never use her for everything she had, watch her be destroyed piece by piece, and then murder her.

Varys entered the room quietly. She glanced up at him, and again it was difficult to keep from lashing out. He’d betrayed her. Tried to poison her. Tried to put another on the throne before she’d even reached it.

But he’d done none of that yet, it wouldn’t be fair to punish him for something he had not yet done. 

_So I should give him a chance to do it? To betray me? To poison me?_

She tried to remember their conversation from the night before. The raging storm outside, her naming Varys’s betrayals of leaders he’d served before.

“I promise you this,” she’d told him, “if you betray me, I’ll burn you alive”.

Had that been the beginning? The moment he’d decided she was not the queen he wanted to serve? Surely other leaders had threatened him. And they were all gone, but Varys was still alive.

He’d said to her, “I choose you”.

But maybe it was a lie.

Varys was moving through the room, arranging the pieces over the painted table to align them with the locations on the map where her allies and enemies would be.

He noticed her gaze. “Did you want to be alone, Your Grace?”

“I’m just thinking,” she said softly.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You weren’t disturbing me,” she said. “When you spoke to Lady Olenna Tyrell, you promised her revenge. Fire and Blood, you told her”.

“Yes”.

“But you and Tyrion have both advised me not to attack Kings Landing.” She studied him. “Do you think this can be won, truly won, without any bloodshed?”

“No, Your Grace. But I do think we must avoid, as much as we can, the spilling of innocent blood”.

“And you believe I wish to spill innocent blood?”

“If I believed that, I would not have chosen you. I know you’re ruthless with your enemies. But I also know you stand up for the common people. I believe, as I said, that you are their best chance.”

_For now, _she thought.

“I apologize for threatening you,” she said, finally, and the words were bitter in her mouth after all he’d done against her in that other life. “I meant what I said about coming to me. Telling me if you think I’m failing the people.”

He looked at her for a moment, then sat down beside her. “I’ll tell you,” he said. “Sometimes though, it’s hard for a ruler to listen.”

“I’ve always listened to my advisors. I don’t always obey them,” she said with a small cynical laugh. 

“You’ve served the people in Essos well”.

“I hope so. It’s one of the most important things a ruler can do,” she added. “Serve.”

Varys was quietly watching her. “I hope you don’t...” he stopped.

“Go on,” she urged.

“I hope you don’t believe it was I who poisoned you.”

She blinked in surprise. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t think you’d poisoned me.” She hesitated. She almost wanted to tell him, explain the events of the vision that had led to his death and hers; but he would never believe her. And he would decide right then that she was mad. 

Voices echoed down the hall, and she stood. 

“They’re here,” she said. 

She felt a hard ball of fear in her stomach. If she didn’t get this right, it would be her ruin.

***************************************

“If you want the Iron Throne, take it,” Yara Greyjoy was saying firmly. Daenerys was listening to her. She spoke the same words she’d spoken in the terrible dream. Was she wrong? Was Yara right?

If Dany had attacked the city at her greatest strength, the city would have fallen in a day, just as Yara said.

_Under an hour, _Daenerys thought. _With one dragon and diminished armies. _

She repeated her own words from the dream, in answer to the war council, and they said the same words back to her. The knot in her stomach tightened.

“Nobles, commoners, they’re all children, really. They won’t obey you unless they fear you”, Lady Olenna said.

“I am grateful, Lady Olenna, for your counsel,” Dany said, struggling to keep her voice level.

_Let it be fear, then._

“I’m grateful to all of you. But you have chosen to follow me. I will not attack Kings Landing. We will not attack Kings Landing”.

“Then how do you mean to take the Iron Throne?” Lady Olenna demanded. “By asking nicely?”

She began to go over the plan, and then stopped as Tyrion continued. She listened to the same words he’d spoken in her vision, until something he said hit upon a piece of her dream that she knew would be dangerous.

“Lady Greyjoy will escort you to Sunspear,” he was saying to Ellaria Sand.

“And I,” Daenerys interrupted. 

Tyrion’s eyes shot to her face. “Your Grace?”

“I will join you. For part of the way.”

Tyrion frowned. “Your Grace, I fail to see how your presence on the ship would-“ 

“I won’t be on the ship,” she said firmly. 

“I hate to agree with Lord Tyrion,” Lady Greyjoy said, “but he’s right. You should be here.”

“I don’t trust your uncle,” Dany said. “You had told me he planned to offer me his ships, in exchange for marriage. Why would he not make the same offer to Cersei, now that you’ve allied with me?”

They wouldn’t have had a chance to build so many of those Scorpions, she reasoned. And even if they had, she would be ready this time. 

They stared at her in silence for a moment, then Tyrion, in a slightly shakier voice, continued his outline of their strategy. Dany listened until he came to the plan to take Casterly Rock.

“I’m wondering though,” she said aloud, “if instead we should be sending the Unsullied to Highgarden”.

Lady Olenna sat up straight at this. “And why would you do that?” She demanded.

“To defend it. If the Tyrell armies are going to be laying siege to the capitol, who will be there to defend Highgarden?”

“Why would my sister attack Highgarden?” asked Tyrion. He was staring at her.

_He thinks I’m mad, _Dany thought.

“Why wouldn’t she?” She argued. “Highgarden is a wealthy house. They’ve been sending provisions to the capitol for years. There’s gold and food there, and no doubt your sister will be none too pleased at Lady Olenna supporting us. The best thing would be for Lady Olenna to stay here.” She turned to Lady Olenna. “The choice is yours, of course. I think you should stay here and move everything of value here as well. All the food, all the gold. Anything valuable. Any family, your nieces, nephews. Any young people. Any old people. Everyone.” Seeing Lady Olenna’s dubious expression, she pushed on. “This is not a command. If you choose to take my advice, the Unsullied will protect your people and help to move everything here. If not, they will stay on at Highgarden to defend the Reach.”

She waited. She could remember the rage she’d felt at the attack on Highgarden. How Tyrion’s plan had fallen apart when his family’s forces had abandoned Casterly Rock, when Euron Greyjoy had attacked Yara’s ships.

It had cost them Dorne, The Iron Islands, and The Reach. 

“We can do that,” Lady Olenna assented. “But forgive me for asking, how do I know you yourself aren’t laying a trap?”

Dany sighed. “If my intent was to harm and raid and pillage, we would have no need for a strategy. I would have flown in with my dragons and armies and taken everything. That’s not what I want. Having allies is important to me, and it will do me no good to lose you because Cersei was a step ahead of us.”

Lady Olenna nodded. 

“Do I have your support?” She asked them. 

“You have mine,” Yara was the first to answer, as she had been the last time.

“Dorne is with you,” Ellaria said, and Lady Olenna nodded.

Daenerys thanked them. She remembered that she had asked for a word with Lady Olenna the last time, and she did so again, promising the older woman that Cersei would pay for what she’d done.

The entire conversation followed much in the same way as her vision, but this time Dany had interrupted the plan. Had changed it. Would this work?

“You’re a dragon,” Lady Olenna said to her again. “Be a dragon.”

_Oh, yes. She had been a dragon. _  
But maybe this time could be different. 

****************************************

“Your Grace, I can see you are determined to go through with this plan,” Tyrion said, his eyes pleading with Daenerys as he watched her go over the maps once again. “But you must understand my position.”

“Yes?” Dany answered absently. _Would it be better to go around a different way, _she wondered, _or would it be best to go the same way and sink Euron’s ships? _

“This is a dangerous plan you’ve devised. You could be killed.”

Dany remembered the last time he’d made this argument. They’d already lost their allies, and she’d wanted to find Euron’s fleet on Drogon, with Viserion and Rhaegal flying with them, and sink it.

_What can anyone do to them? _She’d demanded. Oh, the confidence she’d once had that no one could harm her dragons. 

“Euron Greyjoy will attack Lady Yara’s fleet.” She said decisively. 

“How do you know?” Varys asked uneasily.

“If I’m wrong, and I go, we’ve only lost a few days. If I’m right and I don’t go, we lose Dorne and the Iron Islands”.

“If you’re right, and you go, we could lose you,” Tyrion said. Dany looked up at him, saw the genuine fear in his face.

_If you die, we’re all lost_, he had said in the dream. _Everyone. Everything._

As she remembered this, her voice softened. “I’ll be careful, Lord Tyrion. I promise.” Her gaze drifted for a moment. “I should have armor made. For me, for my dragons.”

“What possible need would dragons have for armor?” Tyrion asked, looking puzzled.

“Your sister is having a weapon built. A large crossbow they call the Scorpion”.

“I was not aware of this,” Varys interjected.

“Then perhaps your little birds have found a new nest,” Dany snapped. Then she sighed. “I apologize, I didn’t mean that to sound as harsh as it did. But the statement still stands. If your information is not as complete as we need it to be, it could cost us dearly.” 

“I will endeavor to be more informed in the future,” Varys said. 

Dany nodded. “Good,” she said. 

She turned from them and returned to her sleeping chambers, sitting on her bed and thinking about other times she’d attacked ships from the sky. In Meereen, and then in her vision.

Missandei stepped in, holding a steaming cup. “I’ve brought you some tea, Your Grace. You’ve been so tense, I thought this might help”. 

Dany smiled warmly at her, taking the cup. 

“Thank you, Missandei. When we’re alone together, please just call me by my name. You’re one of the best and dearest friends I’ve ever had.”

Missandei sat beside her. “Your Gra-Daenerys...I wanted to ask you...you said you’d been stabbed. That morning after we first arrived. We thought you’d been poisoned, and you said you’d been stabbed. But there’s no wound. Are you sure you’re all right?”

Dany studied her for a moment. “What if I told you I’m a monster? The Mad Queen. Worse than Cersei, worse even than my father.”

“I know you’re not a liar,” Missandei said firmly. “But I also know you’re not a monster. A monster wouldn’t have cared to free slaves. Monsters keep slaves, not free them. And remember outside Yunkai, I had said to the freed slaves that they owe you their freedom. You corrected me. You said their freedom was theirs and theirs alone. A monster wouldn’t have freed them at all, but if they did, it would be for power, for glory, to have them fall at your feet. Ser Jorah told you, you had no reason to take the city. Remember? You asked him how many slaves were in Yunkai, and he told you there were two hundred thousand. You said that was two hundred thousand reasons to take the city. You stayed in Meereen to ensure continued freedom when what you wanted was here. You are absolutely not a monster.”

Dany felt tears behind her eyes at Missandei’s fierce loyalty. “I have to tell you something”.

“All right.”

“Remember when I told you about the dragon dreams? Dreams of the future?”

“Yes. You said you’d dreamed of hatching your dragons in a great fire”.

“I had one that night. A terrible dream that felt like it went on for moons.”

She started to tell her then, and, as if a dam had broken within her, she poured out the whole story. All the horror. She left nothing out and made sure to emphasize that she’d deliberately targeted civilians in her rampaging firestorm.

Missandei listened, held her hand. Her eyes didn’t waver. 

“And you believe this means you’re a monster? Daenerys, monsters don’t sit and wonder if they’re monsters. After a vision such as that, the fact that you are still not attacking Kings Landing, you are still trying to fight your enemies in a way that will cause the least harm, makes it very clear to me that you are the opposite of a monster.”

Dany held her hand more tightly. “Missandei, if the war becomes too close, I beg you, you must go somewhere safe.” Her voice broke. “I can’t lose you again”. 

“When we first met, you asked me if there was somewhere else I wanted to go. If I had family. You said you’d be taking me to war. That I might go hungry. That I might be killed. You’ve always given your people the choice to follow you or not. My place is with you.”

Dany wrapped Missandei into a fierce hug.

************************************

Flying high above the sea, feeling the heat and power of Drogon beneath her, filled her with joy, a sense of freedom she felt nowhere else. There was also a loneliness to it, she acknowledged. 

Being the last Targaryen, meant being the only Targaryen. 

She remembered the one time she’d thought maybe she wouldn’t be alone anymore. When she and Jon had rode Drogon and Rhaegal over the snow in the North. 

But of course he was a Targaryen too. She should have known, she thought. When Jon had been able to ride Rhaegal with no coaxing from her. When he had reached a shaking hand to stroke Drogon. When Drogon had actually let him.

She had stupidly believed the tales of his honor. His claim of love. She had truly believed he loved her.

How quickly he’d abandoned that! She shook her head. Would this ever stop hurting?

She focused her gaze below, knowing that this would be the night of the attack...and then she saw the fleet. Far enough away from Yara’s ships that a firestorm wouldn’t harm them.

Drogon moved under her, toward the ships, and Rhaegal and Viseryon followed. 

“Dracarys,” she growled, and Drogon unleashed a column of fire at the ships below, followed by her other children doing the same. She remembered the first time she’d burned Euron’s fleet, with only Drogon left, dodging Scorpions and filled with grief and rage. 

Not this time. 

This time all three of her children were with her. This time she hadn’t lost her allies. This time the ships had no Scorpions. And this time Missandei was safely back at Dragonstone. 

She heard the screams below, and a brief flash of terrible memory shot through her mind of that day in Kings Landing. 

But these were not innocents. 

Still, it always hurt a little to hear the howls of agony and terror when she was at war.

_We all enjoy what we’re good at, _she’d told Jon Snow.

_I don’t_, he had responded.

She shook Jon’s voice out of her head. She flew above Yara’s ship then, all three dragons circling overhead to make sure Yara had the rest under control. She watched them take Euron, a few other men as well, saw the smoking fleet that could pose no further threat to her or anyone, then started to fly back to Dragonstone.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two 

Tyrion watched the boats approaching the shore. It had been years sInce he’d seen Jon Snow. 

Jon and his men pulled in his boat, then turned to Tyrion.

“The bastard of Winterfell,” Tyrion greeted him.

“The dwarf of Casterly Rock,” Jon returned. 

They shook hands, smiling. 

“I believe we last saw each other at the top of the Wall.”

“You were pissing off the edge, if I remember right.” Jon studied him. “You picked up some scars along the road.”

“It’s been a long road. But we’re both still here.” He looked at the grey haired man who stood beside Jon. “I’m Tyrion Lannister,” he said, reaching to shake his hand.

“Davos Seaworth,” The man returned, shaking his hand.

“Ah. The Onion Knight. We fought on opposite sides at the battle of Blackwater Bay.”

“Unluckily for me,” Davos said.

Tyrion turned toward Missandei. “Missandei is the queen’s most trusted advisor.”

“Welcome to Dragonstone,” Missandei said, smiling at them. “Our Queen knows this was a long journey. She appreciates the efforts you’ve made on her behalf. If you wouldn’t mind handing over your weapons.”

Jon hesitated but offered a small smile. “Of course,” he said, and he and his men proceeded to to so. The Dothraki took the weapons and carried the boats away.

They began walking toward the castle. 

“Our queen is not here at present, but she will be returning soon,” Tyrion assured him.

_ I hope, _he thought nervously. _If she’s not killed by Euron Greyjoy._

Jon looked disappointed, but he quickly covered it with a slight smile. “Thank you. I have a matter of urgent importance to discuss with her and I have very little time. Do you have any idea when she’ll return?”

“Not really, but it shouldn’t be long.” He hesitated. “Does it have anything to do with dragonglass?”

Jon looked at him sharply. “That was a part of it. She has a vast mine of it here. I was going to ask her to allow us to mine it.”

Tyrion frowned. _How had she known?_

“She’s already begun, her men have been mining it for a few days in anticipation of your arrival. 

“How did she know?”

“I was wondering that myself,” Tyrion said.

Jon was looking at him quizzically. “But she’s had her men mining it? For us to use?”

“Yes, she said you would ask her for it.”

“Did she say why?”

“No.”

Jon took a deep breath. “There is an army of dead men marching south from beyond the wall.”

“An army of...dead men?”

“Men women and children, truly.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“The Night King can raise the dead. Every battle we’ve fought with them, we’ve lost. Had to retreat. And all our dead became soldiers in the Night King’s army. The only way to kill them is with dragonglass, fire, and Valyrian steel.” He sighed. “They’re North of the Wall, but once they cross, there will be no stopping them. Their army increases with every battle, and ours decreases. He brings only death, and we need to band together to fight him. It may not be enough.”

“And this is what you wanted to discuss with Queen Daenerys?”

“I’m hoping to persuade her to fight beside us.”

“We’ve already begun the war against my sister,” Tyrion said carefully. 

“If we don’t defeat the Night King and his army, we’ll all be dead,” Jon said bluntly. 

“This sounds...” he broke off, trying to find the right words.

“I know how it sounds. But the Night King is real. The White Walkers are real. I’ve seen them. I’ve fought them.”

Tyrion nodded. He felt his stomach knotting. He remembered the vast dark landscape north of the wall. “I believe you.”

“You didn’t before. Grumkins and snarks, you called them.”

They walked on. Tyrion was thoughtful. He didn’t know how Daenerys would respond to Jon’s tale of dead armies, but she’d known about the dragonglass.

“And Sansa. I hear she’s alive and well.”

“She is.”

“Does she miss me terribly?” Jon looked at him. “A sham marriage. And unconsummated.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Well it was. Wasn’t. Anyway. She’s smarter than she lets on.” 

“She’s starting to let on.”

“Good. At some point I want to hear how a Night’s Watch recruit became the King in the North.”

“As long as you tell me how a Lannister became Hand to Daenerys Targaryen.”

“A long and bloody tale. To be honest I was drunk through most of it.”

They continued walking. On the Blackwater Bay below, he could see the ships approaching with Targaryen sails. The Tyrells had arrived back. Once Tyrion set up Jon and his men in their rooms, he would go to greet them.

***********************************

Returning to Dragonstone, Dany felt tired but happier, calmer than she’d felt since the terrible vision. The ships of Euron’s fleet were smoldering on the sea or sunken entirely, Euron himself was captured and held by Yara, and by now the attack on Highgarden would have proven fruitless for Cersei’s men.

But now new plans would be made, she thought, a knot forming again in her stomach. Plans she could not foresee. 

Kings Landing was surrounded, under siege, she reminded herself. The last of the Tyrells were safe and the food and gold the Lannister army would seek at Highgarden and The Reach were far out of their grasp. 

The Unsullied would have returned with the Tyrells and their bannermen. Dany and Lady Olenna had agreed there would be no point in defending an empty castle, the empty Reach.  
But what would stop her enemies from buying another fleet, another army?

Perhaps she could send a message to the Iron Bank herself, she mused. She might be able to take a small loan, even more so if Cersei was indeed in debt to them. Cersei would not get the gold from Highgarden now, and the Iron Bank had been known to fund the enemies of those who didn’t pay them back.  
She felt the knot in her belly start to loosen, when she saw a ship with the Stark Wolf on its banners. Of course. Jon Snow was here. By now he’d begun to mine the dragonglass with his men and hers. 

He would ask her to join his fight with the Army of the Dead.

And if she refused, maybe all of Westeros would fall to the Night King. 

And if she assented, she would lose everything.

Worse, she felt in her traitorous heart the eagerness, the fluttering delight that she would see him again. 

She was angry at herself now, at this stupid girl’s heart, hammering in her chest, that she would be in any way still so drawn to him. This man to whom she’d given all she had, had risked everything, her very life, while he could not trouble himself to make her feel welcome in his home, while he had abandoned and betrayed her, when she’d needed his love and support most.

She steeled herself as she climbed down from Drogon’s back.

Tyrion rushed to meet her, and she could see relief suffusing all his features. “You’re alive,” he said, and she allowed herself a small smile at him. 

“Yes. For now.”

“Lady Olenna has received her people and they’ve brought with them food and gold and jewels. And wine,” he added with a smile on his own face.

“Well, try to limit yourself for now. I need your mind to be at its best”.

“My mind is far sharper when I’ve had wine”, he assured her, and Dany didn’t doubt it. Hadn’t he been quite inebriated through much of his time with her in Meereen? And before that, as Hand to Joffrey, he’d certainly been a drinking man, and her understanding was that his intellectual prowess was unmatched.  
Indeed, he’d barely imbibed in her dream of his time at Dragonstone and his plans had been ruinous. She doubted it was the wine that truly sharpened his intellect, but it hadn’t hurt.

“By all means, then, drink away.”

He continued to walk beside her, adding, “Jon Snow wishes an audience with you”. 

Dany cursed under her breath. “Of course he does.” 

“He’s a good man,” Tyrion said. “As I mentioned when you met with Melisandre, he has every reason to hate Cersei, and-“

“He doesn’t care about the throne at all,” Dany said dismissively. “Not whether Cersei has it or I have it. The North wants to be an independent kingdom. They’re too stupid to know that Cersei would never grant it to them.”

“They would make valuable allies,” Tyrion continued doggedly.

“They will never agree to an alliance with me,” Dany said. “Not really. They will not bow to any Southern ruler. They want my help with the enemy to the North and they wish to offer nothing in return.”

Tyrion glanced at her as they walked. “You were right about the dragonglass,” he said. “And...he said there’s...” he hesitated.

“The Army of the Dead,” she finished. “The Night King. He has White Walkers as his generals, I suppose. And dead men that never eat, never sleep and never tire. Every loss of the living becomes a soldier in the dead army. They are advancing toward the Wall and if they get past it, they must be stopped, or they’ll storm all of Westeros.”

Tyrion had not quite gotten accustomed to her sudden prescience. “You believe him.”

“Yes. I believe him.”

“How did you find out all this?”

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not, but...you haven’t been yourself lately.”

“I haven’t been the same fool I had been,” she corrected him. 

She turned onto the long walkway to the castle and saw him. Jon Snow. Walking, talking to Ser Davos. Her heart pounded again as her hands remembered the shape of his face, his mouth, his body, even as her eyes drank him in. 

_You were saying? _She chastised herself. _About not being the same fool? _

If it were any consolation, Jon too stopped walking and stared at her as if unable to find his voice. 

“Allow me to present Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen,” Tyrion began, and Dany remembered the first time. She’d sat on her throne as Missandei recited her titles. Ser Davos had introduced Jon. 

_This is Jon Snow. He’s King in the North._

She listened to Tyrion recite those titles now, then Ser Davos introduced Jon. Exactly the same words. But here on the windy walkway outside. 

The first time, she had expressed appreciation that he’d come all this way. But he hadn’t come because of her request, hadn’t come to call her Queen or promise his allegiance.

He’d come to ask her for help. And offer nothing.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you...” she began. She had called him Lord the first time, and been corrected by Ser Davos and it had turned into a ridiculous argument she did not wish to repeat. “A pleasure to meet you, Your Grace,” she said firmly and again, Tyrion’s eyes shot to her face in surprise. She continued before Jon could respond, “I know you have much to do, as do I. I won’t keep you”. 

She attempted to slide past him. “Your Grace,” came his voice after her. “I have a matter of urgency I must—“ His words were cut short with a choking gasp. 

Dany turned to see Drogon flying low over their heads, eager to join his brothers as they flew in circles over the castle. They were taking turns fishing, and sharing their catches. She beamed with pride as she gazed up at all three of them, all happy and safe and free.  
After a moment her eyes returned to Jon and Ser Davos, who had flattened themselves to the ground in self preservation. Dany couldn’t suppress a giggle as Tyrion helped Jon to his feet.

“I’d say you get used to them,” Tyrion remarked dryly, “But you never really do.”

“What a dull world it would be,” Dany replied, “if anyone ever got used to my children flying around, as if dragons would cease to be a wonder, after having disappeared from the world for over a hundred years.”

“Indeed, Your Grace,” said Ser Davos. “I’ve learned to stop saying that I’ve seen everything”.

She smiled at him. Then turned to Jon. “I have many matters of urgency I must address. If you like, you may come to me tomorrow. I hope you are enjoying your stay here. Any further resources you need for the dragonglass mining, will be provided. Good day.”

She turned and walked quickly toward the castle before he could say another word. Her hands were shaking, and her mouth felt dry. She would need the day to compose herself, and to figure out what she would say to the King in the North, and his request that had utterly destroyed her the last time she’d come to his aid.

She walked to the castle to welcome Lady Olenna back and meet her family and people. She was introduced to Lady Olenna’s grandson, Willas Tyrell, who flushed a little on meeting her. He explained quickly that he’d brought with him horses, hounds and hawks, and this thrilled her. He apologized, his ears turning red as he said that he bred them and couldn’t bring himself to leave them behind.

She smiled excitedly and assured him that this was very welcome and added that her Dothraki would be very impressed that he bred horses. 

“He breeds the best horses in the Seven Kingdoms,” Lady Olenna added, which Dany could see embarrassed him but that he was also extremely proud of his horses.

He walked with a cane, which immediately reminded her of Ser Willem Darry.

That night, she sat listening to Willas and Tyrion talking about some battle from long ago, which in turn led to a conversation about a legend born from the battle.

Lady Olenna was generous with the supplies she’d brought, and they sat together imbibing wine with fruit and cheese, and listening to Willas and Tyrion’s animated discussion. 

Dany felt an overwhelming gratitude for the vision she’d had. On this very night in her vision, they’d been waiting for word, and it had been tense and quiet. She and Missandei had been alone together, Missandei afraid for Grey Worm, herself afraid for him as well, and for all her men. 

Tonight Missandei sat beside Grey Worm and they both looked drowsy and happy.

Lady Olenna, her chattering family, her grandson with his shy smile and vast knowledge, had already been massacred.

Dany drank her wine and allowed herself to enjoy this little island of comfort in the sea of tension that her life was becoming.

*************************************

The next day, Daenerys sat on her throne and waited. Jon Snow was coming to her, she knew. He would come to her and ask her to help him save the North. To save Westeros. If she was seeking to be its Queen, had she really any choice but to agree?

But then, the North had never called her Queen.

She had set up chairs along the hall before the throne. She felt that Lady Olenna too should hear what he had to say, and her advisors as well as Dany’s own. Varys sat with them and Missandei sat close to Dany on a chair she’d had put on the dais beside her. 

Jon Snow entered the throne room, and as expected, did not bow. 

“Welcome, Your Grace,” she said, smiling at him. 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” he responded. “I’ve come to tell you about a grave threat to Westeros,” he began.

“The Army of the Dead,” Dany said. “Did I not agree to allow you to mine the dragonglass? We began before you arrived, in preparation. Your time is short, you told my Hand. It’s a wonder you would take the time to speak with me”.

“You believe me,” he said, and he looked relieved. 

“I do.” She demanded her rage and her love to be still. “And I’ve provided what I have to spare, to help you arm your men. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

“I’m here because I need your help. And you need mine”.

“I’m not convinced I need your help, Your Grace.” She made sure to emphasize the title.

“Not to defeat Cersei,” Ser Davos clarified, as he had the first time. “You could storm Kings Landing tomorrow and the city would fall. Hell, we almost took it and we didn’t have dragons”.

“Almost,” Tyrion said.

“But you haven’t stormed Kings Landing,” Jon said. “Why not? As far as I can see, the only reason is that you don’t want to kill thousands of innocent people. It’s the fastest way to win the war, but you won’t do it. Which means, at the very least, you’re better than Cersei.”

“How generous of you,” she said tartly. “And having chosen a King,” she went on, “the North fashions itself as an independent kingdom. While I doubt Cersei would allow you to keep your Independence if I were to lose the war against her, you certainly don’t appear willing to help me defeat her. So why would I have any need or expectation of your help?”

Jon hesitated. “Because right now, you and I, and Cersei, and everyone else...we’re all just children, playing at a game, screaming that the rules aren’t fair.”

“The rules usually aren’t fair,” Dany noted, unwilling to be dragged into that debate. “My intent is to change that.”

“Your Grace, everyone you know will die before winter is over, if we don’t defeat the enemy in the North.”

She remembered her words to him the first time.

_As far as I can see, YOU are the enemy to the North, _she had said. How little she’d known that indeed he would be. The enemy who she had trusted most. The one to betray her. The one to kill her.

“No, Jon Snow,” she said, almost gently. “Everyone YOU know will die before winter is over, if you don’t defeat the enemy to the North. My enemies are in the South, and if we defeat them, we will have the entire force of the Seven...Six Kingdoms. We will have walls to defend us. We have Islands we can retreat to. If it seems truly hopeless, we can take all the people of the Six Kingdoms-and if you wish, what’s left of your people-and sail to Essos. Your Army of the Dead can’t swim, can they? Can they sail? The Narrow Sea will provide a barrier for a time, enough time to help us prepare. The Red Temple will spread word so we may mobilize. By the time the Night King has frozen the sea and is ready with his army to arrive on our shore, we will be prepared for them”. She paused to wait for him to respond, and when he didn’t, she continued. “You are readying your men at Winterfell, are you not? Why? Why not have the people take refuge further south? The Eyrie is impregnable. The Vale has natural barriers. You could save your people by moving them there, or better, as far South as possible. Give yourself more time to prepare. To be ready for the Dead.”

“The North is our home,” Jon began, and his voice was heavy. 

“And the South is my home,” she said. “Your people could be saved by moving and buying time, but they don’t wish to do so. I understand. I’m stubborn, too,” she gave a slight smile at this. “But since they won’t move by their own choice, it’s not only the people you wish to save. It’s your home. Winterfell was built by your ancestors. You want to defend it despite the odds. You fought to retrieve it from the Boltons and now you’re ready to fight with the dead there, rather than surrendering it and moving your people. As I said, I sympathize. My ancestors built the Red Keep. And I want it back.”

“You won’t help me,” he said, sounding empty and a little angry, which started her anger up again.

“And you won’t help me”, she shot back.

“I can’t help you,” he argued. “My people have been through too much, they will never again bow to a Southern ruler.”

“And my people haven’t?” Dany demanded, worn down to anger. “Do you think only Westerosi have pain and loss? Do you think my Westerosi allies have suffered less under Cersei than your Northerners? That I should throw them all into a battle to bleed and die for a kingdom that won’t help free theirs from a tyrant who would burn a sept full of innocent people? To fight for your home when you refuse to help us fight for ours?” She took a breath to keep her voice smooth. “You chose to be independent. You chose to separate yourself. You can’t decide to be independent when it suits you, yet expect the rest of the kingdom and my so-called ‘foreign invaders’ to put their lives at risk to protect your home because you’re too stubborn to leave it”. She sighed. 

She had managed to keep her voice calm, level, despite the fury inside her. But she was tired now, more than she’d expected. 

“I have work I must do,” she said, standing, indicating an end to the meeting. “If you and your people decide to accept my offer, I will provide you with resources to move them safely. That’s all I can offer you.”

She turned with that and walked down from the dais, hurrying into the war room behind the throne room, where she sat at the table, lowered her head into her arms, and allowed her tears to flow freely. 

She ached for him. He had hurt her. He had betrayed her, out of loyalty to his family, out of recklessness, out of plain stupidity, she didn’t know which. He had abandoned her. Had put a knife into her. Yet it pained her to disappoint him, to crush his hopes, even after he’d crushed hers in her dream. 

But what choice did she have? She knew that helping him save the North had destroyed her. She could not take the risk of having it all happen again. 

************************************

Daenerys had started reading the books left behind by Stannis in the library at Dragonstone, to learn as much as she could about Westeros. It’s history and culture. It’s customs. It’s wars. She’d made mistakes in her dream, that could have been avoided if she’d understood Westeros better. 

She was sitting at a table, with one of the books about history and law open in front of her, pressing her hands to her head.

Reading about Westerosi laws, their history and culture, was overwhelming. She realized now how little she knew of Westeros, and even of Essos. 

When she was a little girl, Viserys would tell her stories, but so much of that had been from the understanding of an angry lost little boy.

When she’d married Drogo, she’d learned about his culture, had taken it on herself. 

When had she stopped doing that? Caring about the laws and culture of the people she wanted to rule? 

What right had she to rule them if she didn’t understand them?

She thought again about Jon Snow. How well he knew his people. How they loved him. And how willingly she had given him everything. And she remembered her panic just after the battle of Winterfell, after her armies had been halved, after she had lost Viserion. The hatred his kingdom had for her. How they had hurt her, hardened her.

All the mistakes she’d made. And she could not help but to ruminate on the mistakes she’d made before setting foot in Westeros.

She’d never really tried to understand the culture of Meereen either, had she? Of course much of that culture was steeped in slavery, and she had no interest in understanding that; but what of the people, their legends and beliefs? 

She didn’t want to cry, to fall apart, but she felt the weakening of resolve, the faith she’d built as a pillar within, her faith in herself. It was crumbling, and she was beginning to want to let it crumble now. Let it fall apart, so she could rebuild it into something real, something enduring. Something that wasn’t blind and grasping faith, but informed and steady confidence. 

A confidence that wasn’t rigid, brittle, and so could not be shattered by the petty dislike of ungrateful strangers, but could be flexible enough to allow for change, to be open to learn from her mistakes and remain strong. 

She heard someone enter and tried to cover her tears, but it was too late.

It was Varys, and he was standing beside her now, studying her. “What happened, Your Grace?”

She hesitated. Of all the people here, this was the one who had tried to poison her, tried to murder her in her vision, before she’d done anything truly wrong. 

He had thought she didn’t know. But how could she fail to notice the little girl who had brought her food to her, once chattering and breathless, suddenly quiet and frightened and watching her warily? How could Varys think that Dany, who had been the target of assassination attempts since she herself was a child, would fail to notice? 

And what was it she’d done to make him choose to not only stop serving her, but to actually attempt to murder her? 

He and Tyrion had seemed upset about the Tarlys, but the Tarlys had broken an oath to Lady Olenna, had killed her and all her people, and here it was, right in front of her in this book, that the Westerosi punishment for oathbreaking was execution.

“Your Grace?” Varys pressed.

“I’m reading these books...” she said weakly. 

He looked at the massive tome in front of her. “I suppose I would cry if I were reading that,” he said, offering a small smile.

“You promised me you would tell me if you thought I was making a mistake.”

“I will.”

“And then what?”

“Pardon?”

“If I don’t immediately do as you tell me, what would you do?” She asked him. She knew this would yield nothing. He certainly wouldn’t tell her that he would simply try to murder her. And how could she judge him, when she’d done the same thing? When her plan to take Westeros had always reserved dragonfire as a final arbiter?

He was looking at her warily. “What is it you want to know, Your Grace?”

“You don’t trust me,” she said bluntly. 

“Ive only known you a short time.”

“I don’t trust you either,” she admitted. 

He looked surprised at that, but covered it with the same faint smile he’d given her that night she’d warned him that she would burn him alive if he betrayed her.

_I would expect no less of the mother of dragons, _he’d said.

“Don’t give me that fake smile, Lord Varys. I need you to be honest with me. You say you support me. Why?”

He looked uncomfortable and Dany thought, good. _We should both be uncomfortable. _“As I’ve said, I think you are the best chance for the people, the small people, the real people, who do well under good leaders. Who are destroyed under bad leaders.”

“Yes. You’ve said that. But why? Why do you think I’m their best chance? And if you change your mind, if you decide someone else is their best chance, what then?”

“I’d like to know what you’re getting at.”

“I’m going to try to be honest with you, Lord Varys. You don’t know me well but you’ve decided to serve me. You’ve served many rulers. Some terrible, some ineffective. I’m not sure if you’ve ever served a good ruler. You don’t trust me and I don’t think you trust most people. You’d have never made it this far if you had. You can say you’ll tell me if you think I’m hurting the people, but if you thought I might hurt the people, then there’s no doubt you’d think I’d hurt you too. You fear I’ll burn you and I’ve done nothing to convince you otherwise. You can’t trust me because my armies and dragons make me dangerous. And I don’t trust you because I think that if you feel like you’re backed into a corner you’ll murder me.”

Varys was staring at her now, as if unsure what to say to her. “You served the people in Essos well,” he finally repeated what he’d said to her that day in her map room.

“But did I? I thought I did. I meant to. But all I really thought about was freeing them. I set up barracks for them, but what good was that? I didn’t provide them with the means to build a new life. A life they wanted.”

“It was a better life than they had before.”

“Maybe. But hundreds of them died because of my failure to plan for rebellion. I have made mistakes. Serious mistakes. And the people here, they have even less reason to trust me than you do. If I can’t demonstrate to them that my rule will be better than Cersei’s, then why should they choose me? And if they don’t choose me then I have no right to rule them.”

Varys frowned. “You have to give them a chance to know you. It’s exactly as you said. They have no reason to trust you. And moreover, they have every reason to fear you.”

She shuddered. “Lord Tyrion once told me that Cersei rules by fear. That it makes her power brittle. That’s not what I want.”

“Then you have to be patient.”

She nodded. Patience had never been one of her strongest attributes, but she had indeed been patient all those years in exile, and in Meereen.

And that patience had disappeared when she’d needed it most in her vision.

“Thank you for discussing this with me. I know this was uncomfortable for you. It’s uncomfortable for me, too. But if I’m going to try to claim this throne, I need to be sure I deserve it.”

“It’s your birthright,” Varys observed and she glanced at him sharply.

“You were being somewhat honest with me, Lord Varys. Please continue to do so.”

“You think I’m not being honest?”

“I think you know very well that a birthright alone is meaningless. My ancestor and his sisters had no birthright to the Seven Kingdoms. Robert had no birthright either. And yet my father certainly had a birthright. A birthright does not mean rulership is deserved.”

“The people will care about a birthright. It’s important to them. There is conquest of course, but to win the people, there are few things more convincing.”

She frowned, thinking again about Jon. Was that all it took for Varys to betray her, to try to murder her? For someone else to have the birthright? 

“My birthright comes from being the Mad King’s daughter,” she finally said. “I’d like something more that that. Something better.”

Varys nodded. “I understand, Your Grace.”

She wasn’t sure he did, but she decided not to press it. She knew she had to be cautious. This man called himself a spider but could be a manticore if provoked.

“Thank you,” she repeated, and returned her attention to the book in front of her.

******************************************

Daenerys was walking along the path toward the beach with Missandei, and she felt peaceful. 

It was wonderful to simply walk with her beloved friend, knowing she was safe. 

She’d was reading more books, and then talking to Willas and Tyrion about what she’d read, and they had filled her in on events and details that the books had left out.

She’d begun to train with the Unsullied and Dothraki. She was firm in her desire to become a stronger fighter. She was unable to shake the sickening grief of the memory, when Jorah had died beside her. When Jon had plunged the knife into her. She needed to learn how to defend herself properly. She might never have the prowess of her Bloodriders or Unsullied, but she would never be the helpless Queen again.

She’d sent for smiths to work armor for her dragons as well. They’d attempted to convince her that armor would be too heavy, but she dismissed that and asked if ring mail could be used, and if at all possible, Valyrian steel at their long necks, their great chests that housed their enormous hearts. The smiths were skeptical, particularly about the expense, but they’d gone to work. 

Dany had only ever ridden Drogon before, but she’d begun to remedy that mistake as well. Dragons might do better with riders to guide them, to learn how to roll out of the way swiftly from oncoming arrows or spears. 

Drogon seemed unhappy about this at first, shrieking at her and nipping at his brothers when she was riding them. She would have to read more about dragons. All she knew of them, she’d learned by experience with her children, and the unexpected resistance she’d met from Drogon when she rode Rhaegal or Viserion, made her curious to learn more about it.

She had also written to ask Illyrio Mopatis to find her a Valyrian steel sword. She assured him she would pay him, whatever the price. She’d sent word asking the Iron Bank if they would be kind enough to refuse any further assistance to Cersei. She already owed them too much, and Dany did not wish to inherit that debt, she’d explained.

Today, however, she was just going to allow herself to enjoy her friend. 

Missandei was saying, a little too casually, that she’d spent the last night with Grey Worm. Dany remembered a similar conversation from her dream, but it had been after Grey Worm and the rest of the Unsullied had left for Casterly Rock, waiting for word from them, rather than after they’d returned with the Tyrells, their loyal bannermen, and the smallfolk of Highgarden. Yes, this was better. 

“What happened?” Dany asked her. 

“Many things,” Missandei said with a mysterious smile. 

Dany stopped, and looked at her friend. “Many things,” she repeated. Missandei was smiling and looked so happy that Dany could have wept with joy for her. 

“Your Grace,” Jon Snow called out to her. 

Dany exchanged a look with Missandei, an implication that they would continue this when they were alone, then followed Jon across the wet sand. She knew, he was going to show her the drawings in the cave. She remembered it as she walked. He wanted her to see, to argue that they had to fight together. 

“I wanted you too see it before we started hacking it to bits.”

She sighed. She’d intentionally asked her Dothraki to begin mining down here before Jon arrived. Those drawings should have been gone. As she followed him into the cave, she tried to quell her misgivings. She’d told him then that she would fight for him; when he bent the knee. But it had taken the terrible loss of Viserion before he did so, and even that wasn’t enough for his people.

“This is it,” he was saying. “All we’ll ever need.” He turned to her then. “There is something else I want to show you, Your Grace.” 

And then he was showing her the drawings. The spirals made by the Children of the Forest. 

_Of course_, she thought, _the Dothraki didn’t hack these because the drawings looked magical. The Dothraki wouldn’t touch a thing that looked magical. _

“The Children of the Forest made these,” he told her.

“When?” She asked, knowing his answer.

“A very long time ago,” he told her.

“They were right here, standing where we’re standing, before there were Targaryens or Starks or Lannisters. Maybe even before there were men,” she said in wonder. In her dream, she’d felt the same wonder.

“No,” he said, and guided her to the drawings of men. “They were here together, the Children and the First Men”.

“Doing what? Fighting each other,” she said softly. 

He took her arm and led her in silence to another wall, where the Walkers had been drawn. 

“They fought together. Against their common enemy. Despite their differences, despite their suspicions. Together. We need to do the same if we’re going to survive. Because the enemy is real. It’s always been real.”

She nodded. 

_I will fight for you. I will fight for the North. When you bend the knee._

She’d said these words to him. And he had said his people had suffered too much. They would never accept a foreign ruler. 

_They will if their King does, _she had said. And she had believed it. She’d believed that if their king followed her, that if she then pledged her armies and dragons to save the North, they would accept her. She’d overestimated their honor. And underestimated their selfishness.

“Thank you for showing me,” she said softly. “I’m glad I got to see it before it’s gone forever.”

“I don’t think we can defeat them without your armies, your dragons.” He told her now, his velvety voice almost a plea. 

“It’s a shame your Northmen aren’t here then,” she said, her voice still soft. “Maybe if they understood better about coming together. About fighting together despite their differences and suspicions. United. You’re their King. Maybe you can make them understand before it’s too late.” She turned and left the cave, her hands shaking. 

As she walked outside, she heard Jon walking behind her. She ached for him despite herself. 

At the mouth of the cave, stood Varys and Tyrion. 

“What is it?” She asked tensely.

“It appears my sister’s men have attacked Highgarden,” Tyrion told her.

Dany nodded. “As I suspected they would,” she said.

“You were right, Your Grace.”

“But no one was there,” Dany observed, still walking to escape the intimacy of the cave with Jon. 

“No, but...well, they burned it. All of Highgarden.”

Dany felt herself going pale. “Have you told Lady Olenna yet?”

“We thought we should tell you first.”

“You’ll want to discuss this among yourselves,” Davos put in. 

“We’ll have to tell her,” she said, not answering Davos. 

_Had they burned it the last time? No. They’d massacred the people, murdered Lady Olenna, stolen the food and gold._

“Any word from the blockade?” She asked. 

“A siege takes time,” Tyrion said.

“No one of ours hurt or killed?”

“No.”

“Good.” She turned to them. “You know this must be answered”.

“Answered?” Tyrion stared at her.

“It can’t stand. Look at the King in the North,” she said, indicating him with her hand. “His people face certain death rather than cooperating with southerners or just leaving to get to a point further south to prepare. People care about their ancestral homes. It’s important to them. You wanted to take Casterly Rock even though it has no strategic value. This was the Tyrell’s home. And if your sister’s men had gotten there, and the Tyrells and their bannermen were still there, what do you think they’d have done?”

“What is it you want to do?”

“I’m going to go find your sister’s army. And strike back. They destroyed my ally’s home and would have killed her and her family. How can I expect further allies if I am unwilling or unable to protect the ones I have?”

“If I may say,” Varys interjected, “you did protect them. They’re all safe here, along with their food and valuables. If we had followed the original plan, we’d have lost The Reach, hundreds of lives would have been lost.”

Dany nodded, turning to face the sea. She was angry still. They’d burned Lady Olenna’s home, and it was her fault. “This will be answered,” she repeated firmly. “But first we must speak with Lady Olenna.”

Anxiety tore at Daenerys as she entered the war room. This was a conversation she hadn’t had in her dream. Nobody had burned Highgarden, and Lady Olenna hadn’t been alive to be told of the sack, she’d been there when it happened. And this confirmed Dany’s suspicions that, once she trampled upon the plans that had destroyed her in her vision, new plans would take their place.

Perhaps she was not fit to be queen, she thought miserably.

They took their seats, and Tyrion began to describe what had happened. 

“The castle is gone,” he finished. “At least that’s our report.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Dany said to Lady Olenna. “This is because of me, because of your alliance with me. It’s my fault. But I will avenge-“

Lady Olenna cut her off. “Don’t be stupid,” she said. “It doesn’t suit you and it won’t help anyone.” 

Dany blinked in shock. “I-“

“You what? Because of you, I’m here to rebuild my halls when this war is done. Because of you, my family is here as is our gold, our food, our resources. Because of you, we lost a building instead of the remains of our family. Don’t disappoint us now by turning into an idiot like your advisors here.”

“This will be answered,” Daenerys vowed.

“I’m sure it will, my dear.”

“What do you plan on doing now?” Tyrion asked Daenerys. 

“I’m going to take Drogon and my Dothraki and find their armies,” she said firmly. 

“If you burn people over a building-“Tyrion began, but was interrupted.

“Then they’ll think twice before burning another,” Lady Olenna finished. “Why are you trying so hard to tie your Queen’s hands behind her back?” She asked Tyrion before turning to Varys. “Lord Varys, do you remember when you and the Dornish presented this idea to me? To follow your dragon queen? You promised me vengeance for what Cersei had done. Fire and Blood, you said. And now you expect her to fight with platitudes? Pull yourself together.”

She turned her attention back to Daenerys. “I know you want to be fair in these things, and I know you respect your advisors. But as I’ve pointed out to you before, you are a dragon. Be a dragon”. 

Daenerys nodded. Yes, she thought. I’m a dragon. But within her she knew she was also a lost little girl who only wanted a home. Her red door. Her lemon tree. And she knew that it was only the help of a vision that had given her an advantage. Without that vision, she would have lost her allies and she would already be on the road that had taken her life and all those dear to her.

For this next action, though, she felt confident. She had not failed in this, even in her vision, had she? She was ready.

Sailing over her enemies on Drogon, as her Dothraki screamed beneath her, felt powerful. She had been so driven with rage and defeat in the vision. She’d not been able to notice, to see, to relish or dread the terror on the faces of her enemies. As last time, she burned through their front lines and the Dothraki rode through Drogon’s fire. There was no loot train to burn, as Dany’s men had removed everything of value from Highgarden and the Reach; but she saw, with rage, the large covered shape of the Scorpion that had shot Drogon out of the sky the last time.

_Not this time, _she vowed, and urged Drogon to it. He blew a firestorm over it with such force it shattered beneath them. 

_How had they moved it from a castle under siege? _She wondered. But no matter. She would take it up with Tyrion later. He’d snuck into the castle to meet with Jaime in her vision, they must have crept out the same way. 

The battle was barely a battle. She’d overpowered them then, and she did so now. 

She stood on a small hill with Drogon behind her as the survivors in the defeated army gathered before her.

She’d not noticed in the vision, but she could see Tyrion walking through the rubble and scorched earth, looking at the charred bodies with a slump to his shoulders. She felt a pang in her heart watching him. Was this when he began to lose faith in her? To believe that she would become the Mad Queen? Anger bubbled within her, warring with the pity.   
This was war. These were enemy soldiers who had burned her ally’s home, they were not innocents. They would have butchered the people of Highgarden. Men, women, children.

Tyrion finally walked over to her, to stand at her side. “I saw you walking,” she said softly. 

“Yes,” he said heavily. 

He hadn’t walked so heavily through the carnage at Highgarden, she thought angrily.

She took a moment. She did not want her next words to come out as harshly as the fury in her would color them. Despite his own feelings, he had come to stand by her, then and now. She had to remember that.

“I wonder,” she said when she regained her composure, “after the Battle of the Blackwater, did you feel so heavy? Did you walk along the shores to mourn the charred bodies you had burned with wildfire? Or did their sinking to the bottom of the bay ease your conscience?”

He turned to her sharply. “Your Grace...”

“War is terrible,” she said. “If we could win the throne with negotiations, I wouldn’t hesitate to try. But we cannot. These men here would have killed every man, woman and child in Highgarden. People they grew up with. They’d have massacred their own friends.”

Tyrion nodded, frowning thoughtfully. 

She turned from him to face the soldiers, and felt anxiety start to build in her chest as she saw the Tarlys among the crowd. She had burned them, she remembered. She could not feel remorse for that. A refusal to follow her was a declaration of continued war against her. They’d have killed her allies, their own friends, without hesitation, if her vision hadn’t come to her, warned her to save them.

_But this time they’d only burned a building, _she reminded herself. 

But they were still enemies. Oathbreakers. She began to speak, her words much the same as in her vision, until she remembered Samwell Tarly. 

When she’d told him of his father’s death, he’d attempted still to be optimistic. To still extend kindness to her.

_I’ll be welcome at my home now, with my brother as Lord, _he’d said. She had told him of his brother then, how he had stood with his father, and Sam’s face had crumbled. 

Sam had saved the life of her dearest friend, at risk to his own standing at the Citadel, and she’d repaid him by murdering his family. 

She continued her speech, refusing to allow the fear to crack her voice, but unlike in her dream, she did not threaten them with death, though Drogon’s roar made the implication. Randyll Tarly once again refused to kneel, as in her dream. She listened to Tyrion point out the flexibility of his allegiance, his prior vow to the Tyrells, and Tarly’s response, referring to Daenerys and her men as foreigners. Tyrion mentioned the Wall, and Tarly dismissed the offer.

Daenerys’s mouth felt dry, her heart was hammering in her chest. She commanded her voice to obey her.

“I would not have taken you for such an emotional man,” she said to Tarly, finally.

Tarly looked at her and she felt his hatred for her. For her ‘foreign armies’. 

“I understand,” she went on, as if unfazed, ignoring the turmoil inside her. “And I suppose it can’t be helped. I’m surprised, of course. You see me and my men, and think how I was raised in exile. Not a true Westerosi. I hope you don’t believe though, that your Queen Cersei would allow her emotions to get in the way of winning the war. If all that was available to her, were foreign armies, she’d take them in an instant. She would not let her feelings get in the way of victory.” She knew this would not convince him, but she wanted to leave him something to think about. 

He appeared as if she’d slapped him across the face with her words. “I made an oath to Queen Cersei,” he began, but she cut him off.

“Do not speak to me of oaths, Lord Tarly, you are an oathbreaker.” That seemed to hit a mark at least, and she went on. “I’m not here to debate, your decision is yours. I’ll admit I’m disappointed. I did hope to have you on my side. You served my father, King Aerys, did you not? Beside your liege-lord Mace Tyrell. You commanded the victory at the Battle of Ashford, if I have my facts right. It was the only defeat the Usurper ever sustained in the entire war. I would have been proud to have you with us.” She sighed. “Very disappointing.”

She turned to the crowd, as if dismissing him. “I am going to offer you a choice,” she said to them. _Bend the knee or die, _her memory echoed in her mind. “You may choose to bend the knee and follow me. If this is your choice, you will join me and you will be richly rewarded when I win back the throne for my family, from the usurpers who sit in their stead.” She hesitated before her next words. 

_Was this a mistake?_

Her patience, her mercy, had cost her dearly in her vision, but so had refusing to show mercy. 

“You may also choose to remain neutral. I cannot make any guarantees as far as Cersei’s actions, but no one from my armies will harm you if you choose this. You may go back to your homes and wait out the war.” The men looked at each other uneasily, and she could feel Tyrion staring at her. “But understand this; if you choose either of these options, I will consider it to be a pact of peace, between you and my forces. If you violate that pact, I can show no mercy.” She swallowed the lump rising in her throat made up of fear, of uncertainty. She must not show it. “Lastly, there are those of you who are loyal to the usurper’s crown. You will stand beside Lord Tarly, and I will take you prisoner, or you may choose to take the Black and go to the Wall. No harm will come to you as my prisoner, I will make sure you are fed and kept safe to the best of my ability.”

She watched the men deciding, some faces showing begrudging respect, some still pale with fear, still others mistrustful. Most of the men fell to one knee. A few continued to stand and even fewer walked toward Tarly and his son who had joined him. 

She gave orders to her Dothraki to take the prisoners, and instructed them as to those who had chosen to follow her, and those who had chosen neutrality. 

She had no way to know if this would turn out to be the right decision, but she knew at the very least she would not be forced to reward Samwell Tarly for the life of her dear friend, with the deaths of his family.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter the debate about whether or not Dany will go North continues, she is very fearful of becoming what she did in the vision, and I’ve also added some scenes that never happened but I thought should have, just to deepen relationships and kind of flesh things out. Thank you to everyone who read this and thank you all who left kudos! I hope you enjoy it!

Arriving back at Dragonstone, Daenerys went over everything in her mind again. She had not been so afraid the last time. She had been overconfident, she remembered, and she must now measure every word, every choice. She must not walk the path that had led to the deaths of all she’d loved, the innocents in Kings Landing, herself.   
She could see Jon Snow on the cliff as they approached. Drogon landed with a thunderous blow to the ground, and moved toward Jon. She would never forget this moment from her vision, and she watched him now as he removed his glove and stepped closer, touching Drogon’s face, stroking it, even as his hand trembled.  
She could do nothing to stop the surge of affection she felt for him. I should have known, she thought again, I should have realized he had Targaryen blood.   
She dismounted and approached Jon, and they watched as Drogon flew toward his brothers. The three of them swirled around each other.  
“Beautiful, aren’t they?”   
“Not the word I was thinking,” he said, and she looked at him. “But yes. They are. Gorgeous beasts”.   
“They’re not beasts to me,” she told him. “No matter how big they get, no matter how terrifying to others, they are my children.”  
“You weren’t gone long,” he said.  
“No.”  
“And?”  
“And I have fewer enemies today than I did yesterday,” she said.  
He was silent. She remembered how she’d felt the need to explain, her need for him to understand. She felt angry at him now. Angry that he should judge her harshly when he himself was no stranger to war.   
She’d asked him in her vision how many men they had killed taking back Winterfell from the Boltons. She’d pointed out that they both wanted to help people, and could only do so from a position of strength.   
She wasn’t going to try to justify herself to him. If he wanted to think he was better than her, more moral than her, she wasn’t going to waste time arguing. He would always think so. And maybe he was better than her. She’d burned a city full of terrified civilians. Maybe she was the worst person in the world.  
But she hadn’t done so yet, and she would try with all her resolve to never again become that person.   
But she was still angry at him, and she knew, dismal though it was, that she still loved him.  
She had watched him stroke her dragon. Had allowed him to ride her dragon. Yet he hadn’t seen fit to even introduce her to his dire wolf.   
Or his sister Arya, who she knew was his favorite.   
She’d asked him in her vision about Ser Davos saying he’d taken a knife in the heart for his people. She’d wanted so much to know him, to open to him, to let him into her life and her dragon’s lives.   
He had not done the same.  
He never loved me, she thought, and her heart hurt.   
She swallowed the pain and lifted her head. He would never love her, never choose her. She’d thought maybe it was because he was distracted by the war with the dead, but he’d utterly discarded her even after that battle.   
“You think you’re better than me,” she finally said, and he looked at her sharply, his face suddenly haunted as if this was an accusation he’d faced before.   
No doubt he has, she thought angrily.   
“I don’t,” he finally said.  
“If I gave up on my war with Cersei, it’s not just me who would suffer. I wouldn’t suffer at all, really, except the loss of the throne, and I do want it. But I could go back to Essos. And what would happen to my allies? It’s not as if I’m trying to unseat a good and fair ruler.”  
“I know that.”  
“But you believe that when you took back your ancestral home it was morally superior to me taking back mine.”  
“I didn’t say anything like that.” Now he was getting angry, she could see it glittering in his eyes, and it made her heart pound.   
“I know you’re judging me. I know you look at other people’s wars and judge them and their methods, but you think yours have justification.”  
“The war against the dead-“  
“I’m not talking about that. What about the war with the Boltons? What about your war with the free folk?”  
“The Boltons would have attacked us, Ramsay Bolton had my brother.”  
“And Cersei’s husband tried to have my brother and me killed. For years. We were always hiding, trying to escape being murdered. Even when we were children.”  
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.   
She didn’t respond. She didn’t want her anger to spill over into a storm of accusations that would have no context to him.   
They walked on in silence. Ahead, she saw her Bloodriders approaching, and suddenly her heart felt light.   
“This man says he’s a friend of yours,” one of them spoke to her in Dothraki, and moved aside to reveal Jorah standing there.  
“He is my friend,” she responded in Dothraki, and threw herself into Jorah’s arms, holding him fiercely. She was clinging to him, she would not let go so easily. Not after what she’d seen. She remembered that they’d had a few words, in her vision, but she didn’t care. She only wanted to hold her dear friend and never let go.  
Finally, she released him, smiling into his face. “You look strong,” she said, and she felt tears threatening.   
“I return to your service,” he said. “If you’ll have me.”  
“It would be my honor,” she said.   
The last time she’d seen him, he’d been dead. He had died defending her. She would do everything in her power to never let that happen.   
She introduced Jon and Jorah, feeling the joy of having all her dearest loved ones together, here at the place where she’d been born.

*********************************

Now that Jorah was here, she’d asked him to help her learn new fighting skills as well. She’d been practicing, and she was far better than she’d been before, but she wasn’t nearly good enough. Could she possibly hope to ward off an attack?  
She’d ridden all three of her dragons now, and they’d started to get accustomed to it, though Drogon was happiest when she rode him. She’d asked her Unsullied to throw light wooden spears at them while she rode, hoping to train them to avoid being hit.   
The Unsullied had balked at this at first. It was one thing to train with her, teach her to defend herself, and at her insistence, teach Missandei as well; but it was something else to hurl a spear at their queen. She’d explained that she needed to teach all three dragons to dodge, that a small spear wouldn’t harm them, that if they were attacked, the dragons would need the skill to move quickly.   
She’d taken an even longer time trying to communicate this intent to her dragons. She tried to communicate to them that this was a practice, that there was no danger. The tether she shared with them, the connection they had, would allow them to sense that there was no harmful intent in this, that this was a skill they would need.  
The Unsullied didn’t like it, but they did it, at least until one of the spears sailed close enough to scratch across her temple. She’d heard the whoosh close to her head, felt the sharp pain, heard the scream of Rhaegal, who she’d been riding. He landed immediately as did her other two children. She knew they had sensed her being hurt.  
“It barely hit me,” she assured her Unsullied who ran to her, and Missandei as well, who had been watching, their faces contorted with fear for her. “I’m fine,” she insisted. She could feel the blood dripping down the side of her face, and the pain was fierce, but she ignored it. She saw to her horror that Blue Mouse, who had thrown the spear, had brandished his sword and was about to fall on it. “Stop,” she cried out in Valyrian, running to him and grabbing both his hands before he could kill himself. “I’m not hurt. Not badly. And what you’ve done is helped us become that much better in a real fight where someone wishes me true harm.” She held his hands still. “It’s because of you that I am less likely to fall in battle.”   
She’d gone inside to have the scratch tended. Missandei did so dutifully, but the concern did not leave her face. “Daenerys, we all wish you would stop this. Learning to fight is fine, and I appreciate your having me learn as well. But this...forgive me, but this is madness. You could be killed.”  
“I’m not mad,” she said softly.  
“I didn’t mean-“  
“I know what you meant,” she said tenderly, squeezing Missandei’s gentle hand lightly. “But in my vision, two of my dragons were shot from the sky. I can’t risk that again.”  
“But is it necessary for you to ride them while this is happening?”  
“I think it is,” she said, wincing as Missandei applied salve to her bleeding temple. “It’s a scratch,” she assured her again.  
“It’s not a scratch,” Missandei said fiercely, and Dany realized that Missandei’s hands were shaking. “It’s a deep cut and it may leave a scar.”  
Dany shrugged. “It’s a war, we may all end with scars”.  
“A bit closer and it could have killed you,” Missandei answered, and Dany heard her voice break.   
She turned to her, saw her tears then, and softened immediately. She wrapped Missandei into her arms and hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry I upset you,” she murmured.   
Once the ringmail armor was ready for her and the dragons, she’d had to start over again, but the Unsullied looked so terrified about throwing spears at her that she allowed the dragons to practice without her atop them.   
She was disappointed when she found that very little Valyrian steel had been available to armor the dragons, but she supposed it was better than no armor at all.   
She herself felt as if all she’d learned had disappeared when she tried to do the same things in armor. As light as the mail was, it was heavier than her clothes were.   
She’d asked the Dothraki and even some of the Tyrells to teach her archery, and she’d picked this up more quickly than swordplay. She then asked her smiths to make arrowheads made of dragonglass, as well as arakhs for her Dothraki, and spears for her Unsullied. Whether she eventually agreed to go North or not, this would be necessary, she reasoned. She remembered bitterly that the Dothraki arakhs had not been dragonglass. How could she have been so stupid?  
Jorah seemed to understand her urgency and taught her almost daily.   
He too was concerned but he also knew that this would only help her.   
She’d been bitterly disappointed when she found that it would be near impossible to find a Valyrian steel sword. Only a few were left in the world, and most of those belonged to families, or had been lost entirely. But this was not as pressing as other matters.   
The Dothraki were much more open to teaching her their fighting styles; they had taught many a young boy and had significantly less fear of harming her. They were accustomed to killing each other and seemed to believe somewhat that she might be invincible since they’d seen her walking through fire.  
So when she tried to stand on a running horse and instead fell off, landing flat on her back, they rushed to her, but then laughed easily when she breathlessly assured them she was unhurt.  
Tyrion was another matter. He marched up to her with a scowl on his face. “What exactly is it you’re doing?” He demanded. He was angry, she could see that well enough.   
“I’m attempting to learn,” she told him, still trying to force her breathing to return to normal.  
“Are you trying to commit suicide? There are easier ways.”  
“I’m not trying to commit suicide, Lord Tyrion. I need to be able to defend myself”.  
“Defend yourself? Even aside from the fact that you command the largest army in the world, who would all be more than happy to kill for you, to die for you If need be, and aside from the fact that you have three dragons as well, what do you think would come up, that would require you defend yourself by throwing yourself off a horse’s back?”   
She couldn’t help but to laugh ruefully. “I wasn’t trying to throw myself off,” she said. “I was trying to stand while riding, as my Dothraki do. The falling off part was not intentional, I can assure you.”  
The Dothraki were saying in their language that the best thing for her was to get back on the horse and try again. She nodded at them, and turned back to Tyrion. “I’d advise you to stay out of the way. I don’t want to hurt you, and I’m far from mastering this”.  
She continued to practice for the rest of the afternoon, and while she didn’t get much better, she didn’t get any worse. She had much experience riding, from her years with the Dothraki, and that helped, but she’d never tried to stand and certainly not to attempt any kind of fighting while doing so. By evening, she had managed a shaky but improved style. She was aching and had some fresh bruises, but she felt confident she would only get better.  
She was in high spirits until she sat down for dinner, and the expressions on the faces of Lady Olenna, Jorah, Missandei, Grey Worm, Varys, and everyone else at the table, even Jon and Davos, told her that Tyrion had informed them of what had happened.  
“I’ve never seen any person as intelligent as you are, behave so stupidly,” Lady Olenna said.   
Dany opened her mouth to argue, when Jorah jumped in. “Khaleesi, you will never have the throne if you get yourself killed.”  
“What situation would arise,” Willas Tyrell asked her, his tone far more respectful but just as concerned, “that would demand standing on a running horse, to defend yourself?”  
“I am aiming to learn various ways to fight,” she explained weakly. “And if I end up fighting for the North, I’ll need to know as many ways to do it as possible.” Jon looked at her sharply at this, and she quickly continued, “And if I don’t, and they lose, the Dead army will be everyone’s problem.”   
“We don’t fight them on horses,” Jon said.   
“I won’t be on a horse,” she responded.  
“You can’t swing an arakh from a dragon,” Tyrion put in. “At least not effectively. You’d be too high up.”  
“Nor do I intend to,” she said. “This is why I’m also practicing archery.”  
“If you’re riding a dragon who can rain down fire, what need would you have for arrows?” Tyrion asked her.   
“Sometimes a battle puts allies and enemies too close together to just rain down fire. Fire is indiscriminate, it will burn friends and foes alike. When I’m above a fight I can see far better than those in the thick of battle. I think it could be very helpful to be able to loose a storm of arrows from above if need be.”  
This silenced the group and Dany wasn’t sure whether they’d decided once and for all that she was mad, or were trying to figure how she might manage to stand on Drogon while loosing arrows, but she wouldn’t worry about that now, she was too hungry.   
“When I was a boy,” Willas said, as they all began to eat, “I had an accident on a horse. I fell off, and my leg got caught on the stirrup. The horse fell on my leg and crushed it.” He indicated his cane. “I’ve had to use this ever since. While our army defends your claim and our name, I have to sit here lost in books.”   
She looked at him sympathetically. “I’m so sorry you went through that. I hope you realize, though, that your presence here has proven just as valuable as your presence would have been at Kings Landing. It’s terrible you had to have such a painful experience. But please don’t think for one moment that the knowledge you’re gaining from books is less important.” She indicated Jon. “He’s here to mine the dragonglass. If his friend Samwell Tarly hadn’t read about the mine here, he would not have known about it, and the consequences would have been dire.”   
Jon nodded in agreement.  
“And if not for Samwell Tarly’s reading, my dear friend Ser Jorah would not be sitting here right now.” At this Jorah nodded, and opened his mouth as if to add something but Dany knew he would try to steer the conversation back to her antics, so she continued, “Lord Tyrion has been one of the best advisors I’ve ever had, and he reads extensively. And then just think, Lord Willas, if you hadn’t told me all the historical details you’ve shared since you’ve been here, I’d have made so many mistakes.”  
Willas flushed with embarrassed pleasure now, and Lady Olenna was looking at her shrewdly, as If aware that Dany was eager to change the subject from herself, but a kindly smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.   
“After dinner, I would like to speak to you alone, Your Grace”, she said.  
Dany nodded meekly. “Of course.”

*******************************

Daenerys was a little nervous about what Lady Olenna would say to her. She knew she appeared to have lost her senses, and maybe she had. Maybe the agonizing losses she’d suffered in her vision, and the terrible fear that it had left in her, had robbed her of her sanity and she just didn’t realize it. In the vision, she’d certainly become what she’d always sworn to fight. The Mad Queen. The very wheel she’d sought to break. She’d always been ruthless with her enemies, but in her dream she’d targeted innocents. Civilians who’d suffered under Cersei and worse, who had surrendered.  
Of course she realized that having spears thrown at her dragons must have looked counterproductive at the very least. But all three dragons had learned to dodge and weave and avoid being hit. That alone was worth the small scar that would surely form against her silvery hairline.   
She squared her small shoulders, and went to Lady Olenna’s quarters. She’d wanted to visit her prisoners to make sure they were being fed. But she supposed that would have to wait. Lady Olenna was fierce and Dany had no intention of having her wait a second more than was necessary.  
She knocked on the door with some trepidation.  
“Come in,” Lady Olenna ordered, and she did so, closing the door and sitting across from her at the little table, where she was pouring some wine. Lady Olenna poured Dany a glass as well, and she took it gratefully.  
“I know how my actions must look,” Dany began.  
“Brave and stupid,” Lady Olenna said, and Dany smiled slightly at the bluntness.  
“Yes. But please try to understand, I-“  
“Oh, I understand,” she said. “I’ve known plenty of men in my time and men are always in a rush to do the stupidest things.”  
Heroes do stupid things, and then they die, Dany remembered saying in the vision.  
“My husband Luthor died while hawking. He rode his horse off a cliff. He was staring up at the sky, instead of the ground. And my grandson has told you about his accident.” Lady Olenna continued. “I must say, though, it’s rare that I’ve seen women do such extravagantly stupid things.”  
Dany nodded, chastised. “I want to be able to protect myself and my people,” she explained.  
“You can’t protect anyone if you fall off a horse or your dragons and get yourself killed” Lady Olenna told her. “Or if you get speared in the head by your own men.”  
“I know,” she said softly. How could she explain it when it hadn’t happened? How could she describe her heartbreak when two of her dragons were shot from the sky? The crushing loss as Jorah lay dead in her arms? The rage and anguish as Cersei had ordered Missandei’s head sliced from her body as Dany helplessly watched? That she would do anything to stop it from happening again?   
“Well, you’re the queen, if you choose to be an idiot I guess there’s no stopping you. But remember, if you die, it affects all of us.”  
“I know,” Dany repeated in a small voice.  
“I have a gift for you,” Lady Olenna said, and Dany looked at her, surprised.  
“A gift?”  
“If you’ve firmly decided to be a fool, you may as well do it right”. She reached down and produced a long box. “This belonged to House Corbray. They’re sworn to House Arryn and just now grain is worth more than gold. It was a good trade for me, and I know you were trying to find one.” She opened the box, and inside lay a Valyrian steel sword. It was beautiful, with a heart shaped ruby in its pommel. “It’s name is Lady Forlorn,” Lady Olenna was saying, “which certainly suits you.”  
Dany stared at the sword and felt her throat tighten, tears welling in her eyes before she could stop them.   
“Seven hells,” Lady Olenna said, as Dany began to cry, wrapping her arms around Lady Olenna. She returned the embrace, patting Dany’s back gently, which caused Dany to cry harder. “All right, dear,” she said, holding her. “When was the last time you opened a present?”  
“Three dragon eggs,” was the muffled reply against Lady Olenna’s shoulder. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, a shudder of surprise she hadn’t had in some time.  
“Thank you,” Dany said, her voice little more than a whimper.   
“You’re welcome.”   
When Dany felt spent from crying, she sat back in her chair, drinking her wine. Never had she felt such comfort. Almost like having family.   
She lifted the sword, marveling at how light it felt.  
“Be careful,” Lady Olenna warned. “Valyrian steel is sharp. And if you’re drinking, it can be easy to have an accident.”   
Dany lowered the sword back into the box obediently, almost reverently. “I don’t know how to thank you for this”.  
“Use it well and don’t get yourself killed, for a start,” Lady Olenna advised, drinking her wine.   
Dany smiled at her and drank her own wine.

*************************

Daenerys was riding her horse, alone. She’d decided to practice by herself today. She knew that they could see her from the windows of the castle but hoped that they might miss her. She understood the concern of her advisors. She even appreciated it, after the anguish of her vision where so few seemed to care whether she lived or died, save those actively trying to murder her.  
But she wanted to practice without the strain of knowing anyone was worrying about her safety.   
The horse was a white mare she’d chosen because she reminded her of her silver, her beloved horse Drogo had given her.  
She’d forgotten the simple joy of riding just to ride. Not to go someplace, not to fight, just to enjoy what she was doing.   
She thought about the beauty of the land back in Essos, riding with Drogo and his khalasar, how she’d loved to stop and look at the stunning landscape around her. She felt so separated from that girl who could halt the constant struggle for a moment and just live.   
She had to be cautious, of course. Being alone meant that if she did hurt herself, she might not get help right away.  
Bearing that in mind, she remembered what her Dothraki had told her, taught her, and shown her, what she’d practiced herself, and lifted herself into a standing position, the horse beneath her running and the wind above her sweeping her hair back.  
This was freedom, but a freedom she could share. The first time she’d successfully stood this way, without tumbling back down, or worse, to the ground, her warriors had cheered excitedly.   
She lifted her arms in the sheer joy of being alive, listening to the sea as it crashed below her.   
She allowed herself to revel for awhile, riding down along the beach, as waves splashed against her horse’s hooves, against her lower legs.  
She’d loved the sea even as a child. She had wondered what it would be like to be a sailor, to see the world and travel over the sea. She had told Viserys once how fine it would be to sail the world. He’d grown angry and responded by pulling and twisting her hair until she cried. She shook the memory out of her head and urged her mare to run faster. She still loved the sea.   
She had many memories still to make, she told herself. She could not allow the horror of her dream to become reality. She was so lost in these thoughts, she didn’t see that she was approaching a jetty, and her mare stopped short before it. Caught still in the speed of the run, Daenerys’s body sailed over the jetty and into the icy water, the rocks slashing at her arm. She stood in the water, soaked, searching herself for injury. Her hip ached and her arm was stinging, but she was otherwise unhurt. She looked at the horse and started laughing. This, she felt, was a reminder to her. She didn’t know this land, really. Any of it. She’d made a mistake by rushing in without surveying first, without really understanding.   
She mounted the horse again, and began riding back the way she’d come, glad nobody had been there to see. She was already causing her advisors too much concern. And she did not want them to think she’d lost her sanity, which was a constant fear now.  
She thought about Lady Olenna’s husband riding off a cliff, and cursed at herself.   
She also remembered what Willas had told her, about his accident on his horse. She knew he felt badly about not being able to be at the siege with the other men. She had told him that his presence was just as important here, but she could not be sure whether he believed her. She wished she could somehow get into his mind to make him understand how much he’d helped her with his knowledge. He had already read most of the books she was reading now, and had elaborated in a way that the books hadn’t.   
She felt such a comfort around him, she realized, mostly because of his natural warmth and kindness. But she also remembered how Ser Willem Darry had walked about with a cane, and how he’d always been kind to her. Had given her the first place she’d considered truly home, the house with the red door and the lemon tree, and she supposed that would have endeared Willas to her as well. But truly his guidance had been priceless. She’d also been relieved to see that her Dothraki, while not generally disposed to respect a man with a crippled leg who couldn’t ride as they could, had been very impressed by his knowledge of horses, and the fact that Willas bred horses had sealed it. He spoke very little of the Dothraki language, but a Westerosi who’d never set foot on their native Essos, who could speak some of their language and tell them even the smallest bits of information about horses they hadn’t already known, had earned their respect.  
After another quarter of an hour, she decided to return to working on her plans. She hoped that she could find a way to make sure that even the smallest of smallfolk had the opportunity to cherish moments of life that were not made up of fighting and working, once she took the throne.  
IF she took the throne, she reminded herself.  
She knew that nothing was certain. She thought about how full of hope and confidence she’d been when she first sailed here.  
She wanted to feel that again. She wanted her hope back, her self assurance that the unrelenting dislike the North had had for her, had robbed from her.  
But she wanted to earn it back. Not a comfort, or a bandage for a wound, but a badge for something truly achieved.   
As she rode back to the stables, she saw Jon Snow and her stomach tightened again. She almost turned her horse around to avoid him, but he had seen her, and she felt that would be terribly rude.  
Not that that would have stopped his people, she thought angrily.   
“Your Grace,” he greeted her.  
“Taking a rest from mining?” She asked.   
“A little,” he said, smiling. “I saw you.”  
“I saw you too,” she said, looking at him quizzically.  
“I mean I saw you riding,” he clarified. “Saw you stand up on your horse. Saw you ride in the water. Saw you go flying over your horse’s head into the water. Scared me a little.”  
She laughed, dismounting, and allowed one of her stablemen to take the horse. “Seems to scare most of my advisors as well. But the more I practice, the better I’ll be.”  
“You said you might fight for the North.”  
“Even if I don’t, it’s best to prepare. You said you don’t think you’ll win without my armies or dragons. If you fall, the dead will advance across Westeros. If I’m trying to win the throne, it’s my obligation to protect the people.”  
“If you help us you could stop them before they reach past the North.”  
She nodded. “I know. But that’s not certain, is it? And if I lose my armies fighting your war, what will be left for mine?”  
He sighed heavily. “If I could promise you my men I would,” he said. “But they’ve gone through too much, suffered too much.”  
“So you’ve said. But my allies have gone through suffering as well. Lady Olenna’s son and two grandchildren were murdered by Cersei. Ellaria Sand lost her love, and he had lost his sister, and our shared niece and nephew at the hands of Lannisters. They want justice. The Iron Islands want their independence. If I lose my armies in your war, how can I keep my promises to them?”  
“None of this matters of we all die.”  
Dany laughed at that, and he looked at her sharply. “I’m sorry. I just find it odd that you would say it doesn’t matter. The Iron Islands and their independence doesn’t matter, but the North’s independence does.”  
He frowned at that. “That’s a different thing,” he began, and Dany cut him off.  
“It’s not different. Freedom is freedom.” She hesitated. “Forgive me, Your Grace, I mean no offense, but it seems like you are only able to recognize the suffering of your own people. It’s difficult for you to understand that all the Kingdoms here have had their share of suffering. I know that the threat of Cersei may not be much to you, because winter is upon us and she’s unlikely to attack you or threaten your independence until winter is over. But she’s brought much harm to the other Kingdoms.”  
“What is it you want from me?” He asked her.   
“I want you to understand that it’s no more wrong for my allies to want freedom from the threat of Cersei than it is for your people to want freedom from the threat of your Night King. That independence is just as dear to the Ironborn as it is for your Northmen.”  
She was telling this to him, but wanted to underscore it for herself. Hadn’t she granted the Iron Islands their independence? Yet had demanded Jon Snow bend the knee to her. She kept her voice soft, gentle, because she had made the same mistake he was making.   
“I do understand,” he said, and his voice was soft as well. “But this threat in the North is a threat to everyone, including Cersei.”  
She nodded. “And that’s why I need to be much more prepared than I am. If your dead army makes it across all Westeros...”  
“You’ll be ruling over a graveyard,” he said, and she remembered him saying the same in her dream.  
“Yes,” she said tensely. “Unless I can move people to Essos.” He sighed and she looked up at his face. “I want to help you. I do. But it’s not only my decision. You can’t call me queen or promise me your men, because your people will never accept it. They chose you as their king, and judging by your courage in coming here for help despite the risk, your people chose well. In the same way, the people who chose me as their queen are depending on me. I made promises to them. To free them from Cersei. You know what she is. Your people may not be in any danger from her now, with winter raging. But mine are.”  
He nodded and she could see despair in his features. This weighed on her despite her anger at him. She hated to hurt him, even though she knew he would hurt her without hesitation.  
She wondered if he’d even grieved her in that other life. She could remember as the life was slipping out of her, she’d heard him weeping for her. What had happened then? Had he taken the throne? Had Drogon or her Unsullied killed him?   
“Are you all right?” He asked her.   
She glanced at him. “Yes. I’m all right. I was just thinking...” she sighed.   
He was studying her but decided not to press the question. “Thank you for letting us mine the dragonglass. I didn’t think you’d believe me. But it seems like you knew already.”  
“I did.”  
“How?”  
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”  
He offered one of his rare smiles then. “I might.”  
“I dreamed about them,” she said carefully.  
He didn’t seem to think that was odd. “You started the mining before I even got here,” he said.   
She nodded. “I thought it best to start right away.”  
“What will you do if we fall? If the dead march south?”  
She hesitated. She’d given this some thought, but wasn’t sure if he would assume as everyone else had that she was mad.  
“I will try to evacuate,” she said finally. “Try to get everyone out of Westeros. Or at least far South. Or to Islands. To Pyke, Dragonstone, The Arbor. To places where they’ll be safe. It would be best to get them to Essos, but if they’re unwilling to go, then it would have to be the Islands here. Fly overhead on Drogon to see where the dead are. What direction they’re headed. Eventually they’ll make their way to the capitol. My father had hidden caches of wildfire all over Kings Landing. If they attack and the city is empty, I could use dragonfire to ignite the caches. We could try to seal off the city, trap the dead inside, and kill the dead army all at once.”  
He stopped walking and stared at her. “That would destroy the city.”  
She stopped as well. “But it would save the people. A city can be rebuilt. The lives of the people, once lost, are lost forever.”  
“That could be a huge risk.”  
“Everything is a risk with war. But I would need to have the throne in order to have the power to evacuate. If I don’t, then it would cost hundreds of thousands of lives.”  
“Burning a city is not the best way to begin a reign.”  
She laughed bitterly. Better to begin a reign with burning an empty city to scourge the dead, than a city full of terrified civilians, as she had in her dream.   
“Maybe not,” she acknowledged, “but far better than everyone dying and being a slave to the Night King.”  
Jon nodded thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted, walking again. “Trying to trap them and just burn them all.”  
She winced at the words. If Jaime Lannister was to be believed, those were her father’s last words. Burn them all.  
“It’s not exactly an ideal plan,” she said. “But if the North falls, it’s the best I can come up with. It will make the war with Cersei much more urgent. I doubt anyone would obey if I just started sending people ravens to get out of Westeros today. And warning them about a dead army will only convince them that the Mad King’s daughter is following in his footsteps. But if I’m the Queen, I could demand it. They may still hesitate but I’ll have a lot more authority from the Iron Throne than from Dragonstone.”  
“You said your family built the Red Keep, and you wanted it back.”  
“I do.”  
“But you’d destroy it.”  
“To try to destroy the Night King’s army? Of course.”  
I destroyed it out of revenge, she thought. She could never forgive herself, even though she knew she hadn’t done it yet. And she knew she had to be vigilant, to ensure it would never happen.  
“If we beat them in the North, you could save the city,” Jon pointed out.  
“I’m not overly concerned with the city, if I’m being honest. I’m much more concerned with the people in the city,” she told him. When she was in the grip of guilt at the horror over what she’d done in her vision, it was the people, the helpless frightened people, that she thought about, that she could not forgive herself for harming. Not the buildings. “Of course, I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that. I’m hoping you defeat him in the North.”  
“But you won’t help us.”  
“I explained this-“  
“You have the capitol under siege. Your armies are here. You could-“  
“You yourself said it,” she interrupted. “We can only fight him as a united people. Only if we put aside our differences and suspicions. You’ve also said your people cannot do that. When you told them you were coming here, that you needed the dragonglass, that you were going to ask me to join your war, were they supportive of your decision?”  
He sighed. “No.”  
“They don’t want my armies there. They don’t want me there. That could be an unsafe situation for us.”  
“Unsafe?”  
“It’s never wise to enter a battle with allies who hate you.”  
“They don’t hate you.”  
“They don’t call me a foreign invader? They don’t call me the Mad King’s daughter?”   
He frowned. “They don’t know you.”  
“I understand that. But I’m not going to have the time to convince them that I’m not here to harm them. I’m not going to have time to earn their trust. I would be putting myself and my armies at risk. I realize that all wars, all battles, have risk. But from enemies. Not allies.”   
And their mistrust will cost us, she thought. Your strategy used my men as human shields to protect your own.  
She didn’t add that, but she knew it to be true. And she knew also that this conversation would not yield anything valuable to either of them. She was getting angry about the things he’d done, and failed to do, in another life, and that wasn’t fair to him. She couldn’t hold his actions from her vision against him, without acknowledging her own. And her own had been terrible.  
She turned to him. “I must go to my prisoners to check on them. I need to ensure they are eating well, and see if they need anything. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to further help you in the mining.” She turned then and walked quickly back to the castle.

********************************

Daenerys walked to the Mess Hall where the prisoners from the Battle of the Goldroad were brought for meals. She studied them, and they did indeed look as though they were being fed properly. She sat down beside Randyll Tarly, who glared at her over the stew he was eating. His son Dickon glanced at her and nodded in greeting.  
“Are you well?” She asked.   
“As well as can be expected”, Lord Tarly responded coldly.  
“Have you been eating well?”  
“Better than I would have thought under the circumstances,” he said begrudgingly.  
“I wanted to speak with you, if you don’t mind.”  
“You are speaking to me,” he snapped. “And whether or not I mind is irrelevant, I’m your prisoner.”  
She sighed. “If I win this war, I’ll be your Queen. Other than my foreign armies and being raised in exile, are there concerns you have?”  
“Would it matter?”  
“Yes. Not so much in the sense of whether or not I take the throne. But once it’s done, my aim is to have my people be happy.”  
“Is that so?”   
“Yes,” she said earnestly.   
He didn’t answer, instead chewing the meat in his stew thoughtfully. Finally, he spoke. “Your plan is not to remove me from my ancestral home to give it to someone loyal to you?”  
“That’s not my plan at all,” she said. “There are plenty of empty lands all over Westeros that I can give to people as reward. I don’t want to displace anyone.”   
“I know you think you want to make everything peaceful and lovely, but that’s not how it works in most cases.”  
“But why shouldn’t it? Once the war is over, I’d like to get to the work of rebuilding Westeros after all these years of war. And crucial to the rebuilding will be Lords like yourself. The great families of Westeros. People will look to you for strength.”  
Tarly continued to eat his dinner, waiting for her to continue.  
But she didn’t. She wanted to tell him, to tell all these Lords, her plans for the future. But it didn’t matter. She knew they would hate her no matter what she did. She felt sadness but she stood up before he could see it.   
“Please let me know if there’s anything you need,” she said.   
She left the mess hall, nodding at the few other men who watched her walk past them. She wanted to address them as well, to somehow convince them that she wasn’t there to destroy their lives.   
I don’t have love here, her words in her vision echoed through her mind.  
But didn’t she? Perhaps not love exactly, but loyalty. Kindness. The Tyrells had been good to her. Their armies, along with those from Dorne, were still surrounding Kings Landing, the Greyjoy fleet bottling the port. She frowned, thinking about the people there. Had Cersei evacuated the city? Unlikely. Was a slow death by starvation any better than the firestorm she’d poured on them?   
But of course it was. It must be, if for no other reason than the fact that people would be more likely to survive a siege. 

Later that afternoon, she sat with Tyrion, Varys, Jon Snow, Davos Seaworth, Missandei, Grey Worm, Lord Willas and Lady Olenna.   
“I’m thinking I’ll try to borrow money from the Iron Bank,” she announced.  
“Why would you do that?” Lady Olenna asked her.  
“I’d be able to send some to Queen Yara, to aid in building a larger fleet. And then I could send food to Kings Landing. Smuggle it in.”  
“Smuggling food into a city during your own siege sounds extremely counterproductive, my dear.”  
“Not for Cersei,” Dany clarified. “For the people. The whole reason I didn’t storm the city with my dragons was to avoid killing innocent people. But what must be happening to them now? Starvation. Who knows if they have clean water?”  
“You realize that if the Iron Bank lends you money, and you don’t pay them back, they’ll make things very hard for you. They may even fund your enemies,” Varys pointed out.  
“All the more reason they might agree to a loan for me,” Dany said. “Cersei owes them money. A lot of it.”   
“How much did you want to borrow?” Lady Olenna asked her.  
Dany went over the numbers, explaining her plans for the amounts she’d calculated.   
“I’ll give it to you,” Lady Olenna said.   
Dany stared at her. “I couldn’t take your money. You’ll need it to rebuild Highgarden when we win”  
“My ridiculous girl, we wouldn’t have any money to rebuild, or our lives for that matter, if it hadn’t been for you. You’ll take the money and I’ll hear no more about it”.   
“Thank you,” she whispered, overwhelmed by the gesture, the generosity. Most of all, the acknowledgment of her efforts.   
“Don’t get emotional on me again. Just take the money and go on with your plan”  
“When you choose your men to do the smuggling,” Ser Davos said, “I could go on their first run with them, if His Grace will allow it. I have some business in Flea Bottom anyway, and I could show them ways to get in there.”   
She smiled at him warmly. “Thank you, Ser Davos.”   
She wondered what possible business he could have in Flea Bottom, and then remembered that in her vision, he’d returned from bringing Tyrion to see his brother, with Gendry...Rivers? Waters? No matter, she had legitimized him, hadn’t she? At the victory party at Winterfell.  
Daenerys saw Jon studying her and flushed. She felt the excitement bubbling in her, the desire to go to him. To have him again. But she knew it could only bring her heartbreak, betrayal, death.   
Qhono entered with a small scroll, telling Daenerys that a raven had come for Jon. She nodded and Qhono handed it to Jon, who read it in silence.   
Daenerys watched his face darkening. “Bran and Arya are at Winterfell,” he said. “I thought Arya was dead. I thought Bran was dead”.  
“I’m happy for you,” Dany offered, and her stomach started to clench. “You don’t look happy,” she observed.  
“Bran saw the Night King and his army marching toward Eastwatch.” He dropped the scroll. “If they make it past the Wall-“  
“The Wall has kept them out for thousands of years, presumably,” Varys said.   
“I need to go home,” Jon said.   
“No one is keeping you here,” Lady Olenna observed.  
“You said you don’t have enough men,” Daenerys pointed out.   
“We’ll fight with the men we have,” he said. “Unless you’ll join me”.  
“My allies are here, and I have prisoners as well. Cersei may still have allies, or may have sent word to the Iron Bank to borrow more money for sellswords or sellsails. The capitol is still under siege. I can’t just leave everyone open to Cersei’s attack.”  
“Cersei thinks the army of the dead is nothing but a story, made up by wet nurses to frighten children,” Tyrion said thoughtfully. “What if we proved her wrong?”  
“I don’t think she’ll come see the dead at my invitation,” Jon said with a small laugh.  
“So bring the dead to her,” Tyrion said.   
“I thought that was what we were trying to avoid,” Dany said.  
“We don’t have to bring the whole army. Only one soldier,” Tyrion said.  
“Is that possible?” Ser Davos asked.  
Dany’s heart was hammering at her chest as they continued the conversation. This is a mistake, she thought. This was the mistake that had cost Viserion his life. Had given the Night King a dragon. Had forced Viserion into slavery to his murderer. And it had been for nothing. Cersei had betrayed them.  
She listened to the men getting warmed up to the idea. Jorah volunteering his help.   
“Allow me to serve you,” he urged her. Just like last time.   
Lady Olenna’s voice cut through their eagerly voiced plans like a dagger through butter. “If you wanted to enlist in the dead army, you should have said so. Why make pretense that it’s for Cersei?” The men stopped talking to turn to her. “If you try to catch one of those dead things, you’ll become dead things yourselves. How many do they have, and how many are you?”  
In the moment of silence that followed, Daenerys spoke up as well. “You said you don’t have a lot of time,” she said. She turned to Tyrion. “You had told me that you rode with His Grace to the Wall from Winterfell. How long did it take?” She watched their faces. “And then how long would it take to find this one soldier? How long to get back? And then how long do you think it would be to travel to Kings Landing, and then back again? It would be a strain on already limited time. And as Lady Olenna said, you’re badly outnumbered. What if you’re killed? How would you save your people then?” She sighed. “And even if you were successful, even if you managed to survive, what then? Go to Cersei, tell her our position? That seems incredibly unwise to me.”  
“Unwise,” Lady Olenna scoffed. “Let’s call it what it is. Stupid.”  
“You’re all free men,” Dany said firmly. “If you choose to go on a suicide mission that will take time you’ve already said you don’t have, to bring Cersei a dead soldier, do not pretend it’s in service to me, and do not tell her our position. I have no reason to trust her.”  
The despair on Jon’s features hurt Daenerys’s heart.   
“I have to go home,” he finally repeated.  
With respect, Your Grace, I don’t need your permission,he had said to her in her vision. I am a King.   
“You don’t need my permission,” she told him now. “And you won’t consider fleeing? Bringing your people South?”  
“I can’t,” he said. “The North is our home.”  
“Highgarden was my home,” Lady Olenna said. “And now it’s a ruin. A ruin can be rebuilt. Your people are irreplaceable”.  
“The decision is yours,” Daenerys said.   
But she ached for him. And she knew the Northerners wouldn’t leave. She knew now that they were stubborn, and that they felt the land as part of themselves, they would die to defend it. And maybe they would indeed die. She couldn’t find a single reason why this should hurt her.   
Hadn’t they treated her with derision? Had they been grateful, or even civil, when she’d risked everything to save them? And yet, it hurt her. And worse, she knew, Jon himself might die. He seemed determined to do the stupidest, most dangerous things he could conjure in his empty pretty head. She had to admire such selfless courage, even while cursing such recklessness. The thought of him dying made her ill, even remembering how he’d plunged a knife in her with his mouth on hers.   
The meeting ended, and she knew he was preparing to leave. To go headlong straight into the arms of death.   
Idiot, she thought angrily. Her heart was hurting. What could she do?  
If she went North, she would leave Dragonstone and her allies defenseless. Jorah had died in the vision. She’d learned a lot more about how to fight, how to defend, but would it be enough? In her vision, it had been only her and Jorah, utterly surrounded. Jon had gone to try to save Bran, leaving her to die. And Jorah had rushed to her side. To defend her.   
But that wasn’t fair. She had called to Jon to go, she’d been high on her dragon. He’d had every reason to believe she would be safe. She’d flown too low and Drogon had been besieged, throwing her off along with the dead. She knew better now, knew not to fly so low.   
She was not willing to risk losing Jorah. She was not willing to risk leaving Lady Olenna and her family alone on Dragonstone, open to attack. Why should she leave people, risk people, who were loyal to her, who supported her, to save people who had treated her as if she were an enemy?   
If only she could have another vision that would tell her whether Jon would be safe if Dany refused to go. Whether all of Winterfell would fall to the Night King. It had been Arya Stark, after all, who had slain the Night King. The North had made it clear that Dany’s presence wasn’t needed or wanted. Sansa Stark had complained about feeding her army, as if Daenerys would be too irresponsible to bring provisions for them.  
She sat alone, feeling her heart breaking. The Northerners were petulant, small minded, selfish, ungrateful, stubborn children who’d felt entitled to bleed her dry, she thought angrily.   
And yet she hurt to know she was leaving them to die.  
She was startled by a knock at the door.  
“Come in,” she said, wiping at her tears.  
“Your Grace, a word, please,” Varys said, entering the room.  
She frowned at seeing him, and was relieved to see Tyrion beside him. She did not like being alone with Varys. Too easily he had turned on her. In her dream, she had not yet burned the city, she had sacrificed dearly to save the North, and Varys had known nothing of Jon’s capacity to rule, and yet he had betrayed her and tried to murder her. She had not been able to quell her rage at him.  
She nodded at them. “Go on.”  
“While of course it is admirable you want to feed the people, the idea of a siege is to starve the city out. They will turn on Cersei. If you send food to them, they may continue to serve her,” Varys said.  
“You said you were concerned about the people,” she said coldly. “I wonder then why you would starve them?”  
“If a few starve now, and this helps secure our victory, many will do better, and prosper, in the long view.”  
“Starving innocents will not secure a victory.”  
“The people started to riot when Joffrey-“  
“And what of value was gained from them rioting? They’ve been starved already. They’ve been abused. They loved Queen Margaery, but what did they do when she was murdered by Cersei? Cersei murdered their rightful queen, who fed then and cared for them. I understand many innocents were killed by the burning of the Sept as well. They did exactly nothing. They are broken from years of horror. If I agree to starve them, to starve children, how am I better than Cersei?”  
“If Cersei was in your position, and she had dragons and armies as large and fierce as yours, she wouldn’t spend a moment on a siege, she’d have stormed the city already,” Varys observed.  
“Then she’s better than me, because if I were to burn down the walls, the city would fall in under an hour. And she’s better than both of you, too, who would allow the people to starve.”  
“We don’t want the people to starve, Your Grace,” Tyrion argued. “We only want-“  
“You only want victory and are not concerned with casualties, and yet when I wanted to storm the wall of the city, you claimed to be concerned with casualties. What it seems like to me, is that you search always outside yourselves to find monsters, but when you make monstrous decisions of your own, you claim it to be for the greater good.”   
She began to pace angrily. Maybe she was a monster, she thought. Whatever her pain had been, there could be no justification for what she’d done in that life. But a monster could protect the innocent from other monsters. To protect the innocent, she had to surrender her own innocence.  
She turned back to Tyrion. She knew he had betrayed her as well, but she also knew he’d turned on Varys when Varys had tried to murder her.   
That he’d tried to stand by her, tried to defend her, until her own actions made that impossible.  
“Lord Tyrion, do you truly believe that there could be any possible moral ground in starving the people, if we can feed them?”  
He looked between her and Varys, then sighed. “No. But-“  
“Spare me the ‘buts’. I’m not here to be queen of the ashes, but I’m also not here to be queen of a graveyard of people we’ve starved. A death by burning is terrible, but so is starvation and sickness. I’ve been a poor frightened child sleeping in the street, I’ve been hungry. I cannot knowingly do that to more children. I want to build a better world, and while I realize that the world must be brutal before it can be rebuilt, I don’t want to be unnecessarily brutal.” She turned back to Varys. “I asked you to tell me if you thought I was failing the people. As such, I owe it to you to tell you that you are failing them, if you would allow them to starve just for the throne. If you choose not to serve me, you are free to go. I won’t harm you. I give you my word. But never ask me to starve innocents again, if there’s a way to avoid it.”   
“I didn’t intend it that way,” Varys said after a long silence in the wake of her rage. “I only want what you want. A better world. You’ve killed hundreds of people-“  
“Thousands maybe. But not children.”  
“-in order to create a world where there would be no slaves or masters. You understand that sometimes there are casualties.”  
“Yes,” she said wearily. “Unavoidable casualties. But this is avoidable. Even when I called for the murder of slavers, I told the men to harm no child. Always. If my claim to the throne rests on the intentional harm of children and innocents, when they can be spared, then I don’t deserve the throne any more than Cersei does.”  
Both men were silent now, and she felt the dismal fear settle in her. She was angry still, but she had an urge to try to make them understand. “I don’t mean to be harsh with you. I value your counsel. But I have to do what I know is right. It would be all too easy for me to fall into the trap of moral ambiguity that can only lead to becoming my father. I don’t want to be like him. Not in any way.”  
“You are nothing like him,” Varys said, and she looked at him sharply.  
“Don’t flatter me, Lord Varys. I asked you for honesty, that’s what I want from you.”  
“I’m being honest. I can assure you, we’ve never had a discussion in which he would be feeding a city under his own siege.” Varys sighed. “In times of war, it’s always the innocents who suffer. I don’t want them to suffer any more than you do. In fact, I’m much more concerned for them and their safety than I am for yours. Or even my own. But I know they will suffer more under Cersei’s reign, and I want that reign to end.”  
“I could end it today by storming the walls.”  
“And that would harm them as well.”  
“Not necessarily. But I’ve agreed to your idea of a siege. I didn’t think of what they would go through until today. Once I realized it, I couldn’t allow it to continue.”  
Varys nodded. “You’re right,” he said, and he looked as if it had been difficult to say. “Thank you, Your Grace.”  
She looked at him, surprised. She couldn’t be sure if he was merely going along with her, but she had to believe that at least he wouldn’t try to poison her today.  
They left her room, and her thoughts returned to Jon Snow. She was angry at herself for loving him still, but how could she help but love him? He was courageous and fierce, and so beautiful. He was good. He just hadn’t been good to her. But if he died fighting the dead, when she knew absolutely that she could save him, something in her would die as well.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First I want to say THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR COMMENTS AND KUDOS!!! Your comments as amazing and have been very helpful in sorting everything out. I also want to apologize for the tagging mess, I didn’t know how to do them yet! I’m fascinated by the idea of all these relationships but it’s Jonerys for now because I’m trying to follow along the show’s lines and she’s in love with him. A lot happens in this chapter. She decides to go North. I’m having Jaime go there too, and honestly not sure how realistic it is how I did it, so any feedback would be so so appreciated as always. At Dragonstone most of the mistakes made were by her allies, but in the North she made quite a few of her own as well so she’ll be trying to rectify them. I hope you all like it and again thank you so much for reading!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter she’s deciding whether to go North and decides she will because Jon says they’ll fall if she doesn’t and also she loves Jon despite herself. Some mild smut in this chapter, very mild. She goes North and has her first extremely awkward meetings with people.

Chapter Four 

Daenerys was listless as she practiced this morning. Ser Davos had returned from the first smuggling run, bringing Gendry with him. Jon was leaving in a few hours, to die or to lose his home and people.   
Dany had finally learned to firmly stand on her horse while riding, but today she felt so lost, and almost fell to the ground, stopping herself just in time and landing back astride her horse. She’d begun to practice standing on Drogon, and while there was greater ease on his wide back, there was also greater risk. Falling from such height would mean a lot worse injury than having the breath knocked out of her or a few scrapes and bruises.  
She sparred with Jorah, but her heart wasn’t in it, and several times his wooden practice sword had landed at her throat.  
“If this were a true fight, you’d be dead, Khaleesi.”   
She sighed. “Yes,” she responded.  
“What’s wrong?” He asked, and the genuine concern in his voice brought tears into her eyes.  
“They may die,” she said softly. “All of them. The North.”  
“They could still choose to take your counsel, and take refuge further south. It would give them more time to prepare.”  
“They won’t,” she said, her voice hollow. “They’re stubborn and clannish and far too attached to their home.”  
Jorah smiled then. “You seem to know them well,” he said.   
“Ser Jorah, I had a...a dream. A dragon dream. A vision.”   
“What happened in your vision?”   
She told him her vision, the mistakes she’d made, the betrayals and losses, and how she had ultimately betrayed herself, burned the city. How she’d been murdered.   
Jorah had led her to a small outcropping of rocks as she’d spoke, and as they sat now, he took her hand, holding it tightly.  
“I have trouble believing you would burn a city, Khaleesi.”  
“But I did. Already, many things from my dream have happened”.  
“It doesn’t sound like much of that happened at all.”   
“I mean that it would have. But I’d dreamed it so I knew what to do. Now new plans will be made, plans I don’t have foreknowledge about. And everything could happen again.”  
“We won’t let it happen again.”  
“When we battled with the dead you died,” she said.   
“I can’t think of a better death than that of protecting you.”  
“Well I can,” she retorted. “Old, after a long happy life, safe in your bed.”   
“Whether we go North or not, I’m here to defend and protect you. Whether I die there or otherwise, my life is yours.”  
“If it’s mine, then I command you to live,” she said, and didn’t care how petulant or childish she sounded.   
“You’ve done all you could as far as the North,” Jorah said, but she could see sadness in his eyes as well. The North was his home, too.   
“It’s not all I can do, just to tell them to go South. I can do more. I can save them.”  
“So they can spit on you,” Jorah said, his own anger at the way his countrymen had treated her spilling over.   
“I just...it’s hard for me to let them die, knowing I can save them.”  
“You saw the battle. Do they have a chance? Without you there? Without your armies and dragons?”  
“I don’t know. It wasn’t me who killed the Night King. It was Arya Stark. But without my armies, I’m not sure if she would have gotten that far. They may be overrun. On the other hand, the Dead Army will take much longer to get past the Wall, without the Night King having my dragon.” She hesitated. “The Night King marked Bran Stark. The magic of that mark may help them get through.” She frowned thoughtfully. “I have to think where we could have the Tyrells hide. Dorne, maybe. My Unsullied could escort them. Then join us later.”  
“You seem to have made your decision,” Jorah noted.  
“Not really. I must speak to Lady Olenna. If she and her family are unwilling to go to Dorne, I have to stay. I won’t risk the lives of my loyal people for those who would as soon see me dead. I have to discuss it with my armies as well. But Ser Jorah, if the North loses, the dead will advance and count the Northerners among their ranks. They will take all of Westeros. It will be my problem as much as everyone else’s.”  
Dany leaned into him then, wrapping her arms around him, holding him tightly. “Thank you for everything you’ve done.” She murmured into his neck. He held her as if relishing the feel of her. “Ser Jorah...what if you rode one of my dragons?”  
“I’m far better on a horse or even on foot, Khaleesi,” he said firmly.  
“I don’t want to lose you as I did in my vision.”  
“We will do our best to avoid that,” he said to her. “But if it happens, please know that there is no greater honor to me than to die protecting you.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Lady Olenna demanded.   
“Maybe,” Daenerys said in a small voice. “If you don’t feel safe going to Dorne, I won’t go North. But if they lose, the dead will advance across all of Westeros.”   
“And as you said, we will be far from them and have more time to get ready.”   
“If I don’t go, there’s a strong possibility everyone there will die.”   
“And what if you die, Your Grace?” Willas asked her shyly. “We have all come to love you as our Queen. We’ve already begun having food smuggled into Kings Landing for the people. We’ve put the Targaryen sigil on the packages so the people will know who is feeding them. That Northern King refused to bend the knee, refused to call you Queen, put the suffering of his own people above the well being of everyone else, and refused your wise counsel to move South to give themselves time to prepare. I bear them no ill will, but this is a choice they made. I don’t see why you should risk yourself when they made their choice”.  
Daenerys looked at Willas warmly in appreciation. “Thank you so much for your concern; it means so much more than I can put into words”, she said to him, and he flushed. “You all have come to be very dear to me. If you think your safety will be threatened by the trip to Dorne, I will not risk-“   
“We are not doubting our safety, my deranged Queen,” Lady Olenna bellowed, exasperated. “We are doubting yours. We have all the confidence in the world your Unsullied will get us safely to Dorne. And we know well that we will be protected there. But what happens then? You rush into this waste of snow and ice to defend a people who wouldn’t piss on you to save you if you were on fire?”  
“They wouldn’t have to save me if I were on fire,” Dany said softly.   
“Oh, yes. The Unburnt. But I think you understand my point. You’ve made it clear that you’re dumb as a box of hair when it comes to your own safety, but you aren’t stupid.”  
Dany sat quietly, listening to Lady Olenna, hearing her out.   
“You know Westeros better than anyone,” Dany said when Lady Olenna had finished. “You know they won’t leave the North. If you have no objections other than my safety, no objections because of your own safety, then I need to do this. They may be fools, but I can’t just let them die, knowing I could have saved them.”  
“Lady Olenna does make a valid point,” Tyrion put in. “I understand your argument, Your Grace, and I will join you if you truly intend to go North. But if something happens to you, what would be the plan then? We’ve already begun the war”.  
“Nothing is going to happen to me.” At the dubious expressions of those around her, she sighed. “I could name an heir,” she suggested. “My Khalasar responds to strength. My Unsullied are free men, but they will fight in my honor. Choose whoever you think would be fit,” she told Lady Olenna.   
“You,” Lady Olenna quipped.   
Dany laughed at that. “I will do all in my power to return unharmed,” she assured them. 

Next, she went to her prisoners. She’d asked Tyrion to join her. They would likely not believe her about the Dead Army, and she hoped having someone they knew with her would at least help mitigate their incredulity.   
She gathered them into the mess hall, and told them the situation as clearly as she could. She was unperturbed by the expressions on their faces. She was getting accustomed to people thinking she was mad.   
“The North is not your enemy, at least not now, not in this. They are an independent kingdom having won their seat of power from the Boltons. If you wish to join us, to help with the fighting, we can use all the men we can get against the Dead. If you don’t wish to join us, I do understand. The Night King has a large army, a hundred thousand at least, and they not only do not tire, they need no supplies. They can only be killed by fire or dragonglass.” Or Valyrian steel, she thought, but there was no reason to mention that when Randyll Tarly would be reminded of his sword, and Dany remembered Sam Tarly telling her he’d stolen it. “You would be wise to be afraid, and in your rights to refuse to fight this enemy. But if Winterfell is to fall, the dead army will storm all of Westeros. I must go and try to help save them. I can’t leave you here to starve when we’ve left the castle empty. I’m going to give you the choice to join us in the North, or be held prisoner...somewhere else.” She was hesitant to tell them where the Tyrells would be in the event the Southern Lords chose to come North to fight, only to escape.  
Randyll Tarly stood. “This sounds ridiculous,” he told her. “And while it may be in my own Queen’s interest if the North leads you into a trap to murder you, if we are to join you in this it would endanger us as well”.   
“It’s not a trap. And even if it were, the North does not have enough men to attempt to overpower my armies. Even with your men here, if you joined forces with the North against me, you couldn’t win. But you would not be In danger from them. The North has no reason to attack you at all, at least not at this time when your Queen has her hands too full with my siege to threaten their independence. Your own son Samwell is there, right in the front lines.” She saw Tarly’s surprise. But now she hesitated. Maybe Tarly would see this as an opportunity to kill her. “Maybe you would think it worth dying at the hands of my armies and dragons to eliminate me. But I intend to keep guards with me at all times and it would not serve you to underestimate what I am able to do to defend myself.”   
She saw the same grudging respect on their faces she’d seen before.   
“I can’t speak for my fellow men,” Tarly said, “but if indeed there is a threat in the North to fight, I’d prefer to join in that fight, over being a prisoner.”   
The other men agreed, and Dany nodded at them gratefully. “I thank you for that. I ask you then to give me your word you will make no attempt to escape until after the threat is dealt with.”  
Tarly looked almost amused. “And you will take our word at that?”   
“Yes. You’ve broken your oath to the Tyrells, so it may seem foolish for me to take your word, but you also stood and made your intent known when we fought on the field, knowing I would take you prisoner, when you could have lied and chosen neutrality and then fought against me. You kept to your honor in that, and so I expect you to do the same now.”  
The men made the vow to stand by the North until the threat was over. She knew they would likely escape directly afterwards. She would warn Lady Olenna and send a raven to the armies holding the capitol. She hoped this was not the wrong choice, a choice that would cost lives.

She had gone to Grey Worm to tell him her plan, and he had been there for most of the councils where they’d discussed it. He agreed to join her immediately, and she was grateful.   
The Dothraki were slightly harder to convince. In Essos they’d been afraid of Stygai, the ghost city beyond the Shadows. They had no interest in fighting a dead army.   
She reminded them of the ghost grass there; the terrible grass that killed all other vegetation. She knew they believed that the ghost grass would one day cover everything and end the world. She explained to them how like the ghost grass these dead soldiers were, that they were dangerous and if they weren’t stopped, then everyone would die, and the world would end. That they could stop it. That they would stop it. They could save the world from ending.   
They cheered at this, but she could see they were concerned, and she could not blame them at all for that. She warned them that they must use the dragonglass arakhs she’d had made for them, that only this would kill the dead. She could see they were wary. They would follow her. They trusted her. She remembered the vision and felt sick. She would not send them straight into the night as she had in the vision. 

She was torn between eagerness and hesitation as she approached Jon, who was standing with Ser Davos and Gendry, having his men load the dragonglass into his ship. He looked pale, drawn with concern.  
“Your Grace,” she addressed him, though it still rankled.  
He turned to her. “Your Grace,” he responded. He was looking at her now, and he seemed to be drinking her in.   
I suppose he stares at you longingly because he’s hoping for a successful military alliance, Tyrion’s voice echoed in her mind.  
“I’ve decided I will join you after all,” she said.   
He looked at her in surprise. “What changed your mind?”  
I can’t bear the thought of you dying even though you’re a traitorous, murdering-  
“Your Northmen are fools to refuse to leave and give themselves time,” she noted. “But I can’t stand by and let people die if I can prevent it.”   
“Thank you,” he said in wonder.   
Thank you, Dany, he’d said to her in her dream. They had been much more familiar then. She had eagerly spent time with him, tried to be near him as much as possible. Now she had avoided him as if he were infected with greyscale.   
She nodded curtly. “I’ll be sending my allies to safety, my Unsullied will meet up with us at Winterfell.” She looked up at his ship. That was where they’d first been together. She felt a pang deep within her, and pushed the longing away. She had sent a raven to let Lady Yara know what she was doing. As an ally, she had the right to know, and she might assist in getting the Tyrells and their people to Dorne. Dany remembered Yara’s brother Theon coming to fight for the North. To stand by Bran. He may wish to do the same now.  
The wind stirred her hair, so like the air on the night Jon had knocked on her door. Some part of her wanted to fall into his arms. If only she could ask him why. Why had he killed her?  
But she knew why. He was afraid she would burn the continent. Afraid she would burn his family. And his family would always demand that he choose between her and them; and he would always choose them. She wondered now, had she demanded he choose between her and them? It was an unfair choice either way. He should never have had to choose.  
He was watching her still, she realized, feeling his eyes on her.   
“I should go,” she said. “I have much to do before setting sail.”   
“Maybe you should sail with us,” Jon suggested.   
She turned sharply. “Why would I do that?”  
“If we’re going to be allies in this war, it’s important for the Northerners to see us as allies. If we sail to White Harbor together, I think it sends a better message.”  
She felt heartsick. Oh, how she wanted to sail with him. To take him to her bed as she had in her vision. But she knew she was too close already, too close to that breathless fall. And she would be his again, crying for the crumbs of his love, and once the battle was won, he would discard her and betray her.  
He might not even be thinking about that, she reminded herself. It had been an entirely different relationship, and he was consumed with the war against the dead.  
“I mean no offense, Your Grace,” she said, “But I’m not going North to send a message. If my presence there, with my armies and dragons, my willingness to fight and bleed for them, is not enough for them to see me as an ally, nothing will.” She allowed herself to rest her hand against his arm. Just this. This small touch. “Have a safe journey,” she said.  
“You as well, Your Grace.” She turned and walked back to the Castle, and she could feel him watching her as she went. 

*******************************

Tyrion sat in his room and looked at the parchment. Daenerys had specifically ordered them not to tell Cersei their position. But this was much larger than a simple battle, and if they fell, would anyone in Westeros know what was coming for them?   
And if his letter succeeded, it couldn’t possibly hurt to have more men here.   
Daenerys would be angry. This, he knew. But if Cersei ordered her men to go North to help them...  
What men? Hadn’t Daenerys taken most of the Southern Lords who were loyal to the crown as prisoners?   
But of course Cersei could order those who had remained neutral to report to the North. And the River Lands as well. He knew she wouldn’t order the few men she had in Kings Landing to go North, not while they were under siege. But she could send others.   
He was writing the letter to Jaime. He knew Jaime must be angry at him. He’d killed their father. But he had to take the chance that maybe Jaime would take his word. Understand the danger.   
He wrote the letter explaining the situation, and sealed it, then sent the raven.   
He walked back toward his room. He saw Varys walking down the hall and smiled weakly.   
“I’ve done something our Queen will not like,” he confessed.  
Varys frowned and followed him to his room.   
“What did you do?”  
“I sent a letter to my brother. To tell him the situation, to warn him and advise him to have Cersei send men.”  
“Do you think that was wise?”  
“I don’t know. I couldn’t just allow them to be ignorant of it. If we fall, the dead army will sweep across all of Westeros.”  
“That may be, but Cersei will likely not believe it and she’s hardly in a position to help.”  
“She could order the men of the River Lands to come North. And the men who vowed neutrality.”  
“They vowed neutrality.”  
“Yes, to Daenerys. But Daenerys will be fighting in the North as well. This could go a long way toward a peaceful transition.”  
“If Cersei agrees to help. But she will more likely believe this is a trap.”  
“Even if she does, it’s not much of a risk for us. She’s under siege and has no means to solidify her position. What could she do? In the worst case, she doesn’t help but could protect the Seven Kingdoms if we fall. In the best case she believes us, sends help, and we are more likely to defeat the dead army.”  
“In the worst case, she believes you that Daenerys is at Winterfell and hires an assassin. She must know she can’t beat the queen’s armies and dragons. This would be a way to eliminate her enemy once and for all.”  
Tyrion felt a chill down his back. He hadn’t considered that. What was it about dealing with his family that seemed to compromise his thinking? “Daenerys has armed guards with her at all times. She’s been practicing with her sword and with fighting in general.”  
“Indeed. And she’s getting better. But she’s far from the proficiency she would need against a professional assassin. On her horse, maybe, but she already excelled there. All those years with the Dothraki, I suppose. Still, an assassin will not be likely to attack her on her horse or her dragon.”  
“Her archery-“  
“Is all but perfect, yes. But again, an assassin is not going to announce his presence from far enough away for that to have an effect.”  
Tyrion frowned. “Her guards stay with her at all times.”  
“Yes, and we’ll have to make sure that they continue to do so.”  
Tyrion nodded, shuddering. “She’s going to be very angry.”  
“Yes, she is. Are you going to tell her?”  
“Maybe nothing will come of it.”  
“We’ll keep silent then. I can’t have her burning you for treason.”  
“Thank you for that.”

**********************************

The first time Daenerys had gone to Winterfell, she’d gone with Jon on his ship. He had done much of the planning, while she had simply watched or listened.   
But the battle, though victorious, had been disastrous to her, to her armies, her numbers, her heart.   
She attempted to convince Missandei to go on to Dorne with her allies.   
“I can’t bear to lose you again, Missandei. You are a sister to me in my heart. I love you.”   
Missandei had caught her hand in her own. “I love you, too,” she said. “My place is with you. You said I didn’t die there in that battle. Why would I this time?”  
“Any little change that I’ve made could cause effects that would change everything else. And you were captured on our way back. In the attack”  
“An attack by Euron’s fleet, which is no more.”   
“Cersei may have hired sell sails.”  
“With what money? She never had her hands on the riches of Highgarden this time, to pay the Iron Bank. And didn’t they agree not to fund her?”  
“They did,” Dany said. “But I don’t want to get overconfident.”   
“I’m coming with you,” Missandei said firmly. “The North isolated you and treated you like an enemy even though you went there to save their lives. I won’t let you be there alone. I can only assume I was with Grey Worm that night, the night of the celebration where they abandoned you as if they didn’t owe you their lives. I can’t think why I wasn’t by your side.”  
Dany smiled at her. “You were with Grey Worm,” she confirmed. “And you should do the same this time. Celebrate the victory with him. The North can’t hurt me this time, not like before. I thought my willingness to save them would at least move them to treat me with even basic kindness. I was wrong. I also was set on them recognizing me as their Queen. I was hurt that they didn’t. I was angry. But I’m prepared for that now. I won’t be there to win their love or respect. I’ve come to know it’s not worth the loss to press this issue. They are nothing to me now, only spoiled entitled children who demand help while they call themselves independent.”  
Missandei nodded and squeezed her hand. “It can still hurt.”  
Dany nodded. Indeed it could. Clearly she remembered hoping that Jon’s family would like her, that she could have some kind of friendship with his sisters. It ached still, but her primary focus now was in ensuring her own men weren’t used as fodder to protect the lives of the Northerners who clearly considered them expendable.  
When Missandei left the room, Dany went to the library and resumed her study of books on Westerosi war history, searching for passages that described battles that had happened before.   
Dany had never been in a position of having to worry too much about military strategy. She’d left it to her men, and then her dragons had made strategy somewhat moot.  
Burn them all. That had been enough strategy. But it wouldn’t be good enough now. The dead had numbers on their side, and they had the crucial advantage of the fact that each time a living soldier died, he added to the dead army’s numbers.  
It had been madness to send the Dothraki into the darkness like that, Daenerys thought. Why had they done it? Why had they placed all Dany’s men at their front line? Had they wanted to even out the numbers to crush Dany’s forces? Had they simply considered Northern lives more valuable? Of course they had, she reasoned. But she had not expected them to throw her men away as if their lives had no value at all. Her men hadn’t even been given dragonglass weapons, and that was her own fault. She would not make that mistake this time.   
Was it incompetence? If that was it, she’d had a hand in it. She had accepted the battle plan and sent her Dothraki almost into extinction. She would not fail them in this way again.  
She turned the pages of the book in her lap. Why had they put up but one barricade? Why had they dug but one trench? Why had her men been positioned in front of the trench? What had they been thinking?  
She remembered hearing the panic and clamoring when the dead had breached Winterfell. From far below, men calling to man the walls. Why had the walls been undermanned to begin with?   
She put her head into her hands. Dany was not a military strategist. She could object to the plans but she strongly doubted she’d be able to come up with a better one. The knot in her stomach tightened.   
She heard a knock at her door, and snapped “come in,” without raising her head from the book.   
“We’re ready to go, Your Grace,” came Willas’s soft voice.   
Now she looked up, lowered her book to approach him, smiling warmly. “Please be safe,” she said. “I’ll come to give my good wishes to your grandmother as well”.  
“Forgive me, Your Grace, but you look as if you’ve not slept. Are you all right?”   
She laughed ruefully. “I don’t even know, I’ve been searching through these books to find more information about battle plans. I’ve found a few helpful passages but most of this was written to glorify the winners, not truly explain how they won.”  
Willas frowned. “You’ve won many battles,” he observed.  
“Yes, but through superior numbers, able soldiers and dragons. Rarely through strategy.”   
Willas nodded sympathetically. “I suppose having dragons eliminated the need for careful strategy.”  
“They won’t be enough now.”  
Willas walked to the long wall of books Stannis had left in the library when he’d had Dragonstone, and began to select a few. He laid them down on the table where she’d been sitting.   
“Start with these. Especially this one,” he tapped a red one on top. “These are about the wars only, not obsequious posturing about the winners. They’re about the battles, and more fully describe the strategies. You’re wasting time you don’t have, reading the other history books, if what you want is strategy”.  
“Thank you so much,” she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. “Your counsel has been worth more than gold to me.” He flushed.  
“I’m at your service in whatever way I can help, Your Grace.” He looked at her shyly, and she could see his ears turning red under his golden brown hair. “Just please...come back to us.”   
“I will,” she promised. She followed him down the hall and outside where her allies had gathered for the trip.  
Lady Yara had arrived and her ship had been reinforced. The rest of her fleet was still at the blockade. She stood with Ellaria Sand at the docks. Dany wondered if she should follow them again. She had hurt enough at their loss the last time. She would be crushed to lose them now. Theon Greyjoy was there as well, and as Dany had remembered, was joining her on the trip to Winterfell.   
“You’re certain there’s no changing your mind,” Lady Olenna asked as Dany hugged her.   
“I’m certain,” she said firmly.  
“Do be careful,” Lady Olenna advised, and Dany promised she would.   
Once they’d gone, she returned to the books, a new surge of gratitude for Willas’s help rushing through her, even more so as she opened the book and saw to her delight that there were incredibly detailed descriptions of various battles.   
She had to hope this would be enough.

**************************************

Ser Jorah had suggested she fly to Winterfell, in her vision and now. She’d refused that suggestion in her vision, she had taken Jon’s advice to arrive with him. To appear as allies. And it had not made one bit of difference.   
She would take Ser Jorah’s advice this time.  
As she flew over the snows of the North, she pondered again the lonely freedom of the sky. She saw the men and women of the North, and her own armies stretched as far back as the eye could see. She saw the faces of the North below her, full of suspicion and fear. She steeled herself for their frosty reception, and landed Drogon with a thundering crash on one of the ramparts in the courtyard of Winterfell, where Jon stood with his sister Sansa. She walked down along Drogon’s wing, and approached Jon. She could see the stares of the people around him, and she allowed herself the satisfaction of knowing that they may hate her, but if she’d wanted to kill them, to seize the North, she could have done so with ease. And they knew it. She approached Jon and greeted him. He introduced her to his sister, Sansa and his brother, Bran.  
Dany remembered how she had attempted to ingratiate herself to this woman, had called Sansa’s home and herself beautiful.   
Sansa had sneered at her and icily told her Winterfell was hers. Dany remembered her heart sinking at her coldness.  
Dany had no intention of trying to win her over now, this woman who wished to be Queen of the North but valued her people’s lives so little that Dany’s service to save their lives had not been worth even the slightest respect or warmth.   
The two women recited the basic niceties of introduction.   
She remembered Bran Stark snapping at her that there was no time. That the Night King had her dragon and had burned down the Wall.   
He said no such thing now, and was quietly watching her. Jon made introductions.  
“This entrance was much better,” Bran told her. Jon looked at him quizzically, but Dany felt a chill down her spine. “Nobody here has ever seen a dragon. We’d only heard of them in stories”.   
He knew, she thought. Somehow he knew what she’d seen, knew she’d made changes.  
He continued to look at her serenely, and Jon guided her to her quarters. 

Jon knocked on the door of the study at Winterfell.   
“Come in,” Sansa called.  
He entered cautiously. Sansa was sitting at father’s desk, reading a scroll.   
“Lord Glover wishes us good fortune, but he’s staying in Deepwood Motte with his men,” she read, and tossed the scroll across the desk.  
“House Glover will stand behind House Stark as we have for a thousand years,” Jon said, his voice low with anger. “Isn’t that what he said?”  
“I will stand behind Jon Snow, he said.”  
“Aye, and he’s not doing that either, is he?”  
“He knows you’ve brought a Targaryen Queen with you.”  
“I brought two armies home with me. And three dragons,” he argued. “Do you really think we can beat the dead without her? I fought them, Sansa. Twice. Without her, we don’t stand a chance.” He sighed. Closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at her searchingly. “Do you have any faith in me at all?”   
Her face softened. “You know I do.” She took a deep breath. “It’s her I don’t trust. Why would she come here, take such a risk, if she isn’t planning to take the North?”  
“She never asked me to bend the knee, Sansa. Not once.”  
“And you don’t think it’s what she wants?”  
“Aye, she wants it. She wants to be the queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She was concerned about the lack of unity in us fighting together. But she came anyway.”  
“Why do you think she came anyway, Jon?” Sansa asked, her voice tense.  
“She said she decided to come because she believed me when I told her that we would all die if she didn’t.”   
He could see impatience on Sansa’s face. “And you believe that,” she said. “That she only came here, agreed to risk her life and her armies and her dragons, to save the lives of strangers.”  
“Why wouldn’t I believe it?”  
“Jon...you can’t assume everyone is like you. I know it’s what you would do. But it’s like you said, she wants to be the queen of all Seven Kingdoms. She wouldn’t just come here to save people she doesn’t know, at such a high risk, without wanting something in return.”  
“What do you think she wants?”  
“She wants you to bend the knee to her. She wants us to see her forces, her strength. She wants us to know that we can’t possibly fight her. She probably wants our men to fight with her men to take the throne.”  
Jon sighed. Daenerys had mentioned that. That if she lost her armies fighting this war with him, she might be left without the resources to fight Cersei.  
“Would that be so terrible?” He asked.  
Sansa looked at him in horror. “Yes! Yes, it would be terrible! We fought for an independent North. They chose you to be their king. If you surrender your crown-“  
“I never wanted a crown, Sansa. I only wanted to protect the North. You want to worry about who holds what title. I’m telling you, it doesn’t matter. If we have only our men, we will die. You understand that, don’t you? I told you we needed allies.”  
“You didn’t tell me you were going to abandon your crown.”  
“I didn’t abandon my crown. And even if I did, to save the North, do you really think that would be too high a price? To save the lives of our people?”  
“You don’t have much faith in our people to fight the dead.”  
“If you saw them, Sansa, you’d know. We can’t hope to beat them. Not without her. And she didn’t ask me to bend the knee.” He sighed. “Sansa...if it came to it, she’d be a good queen. For all of us. She’s not her father.”  
Sansa smiled faintly. “No. She’s much prettier.”  
Jon smiled a little at that. For a moment, the little queen’s ethereal face flashed through his mind. “She’s not just prettier, Sansa. She’s kinder. She sent food to the people in Kings Landing. She’s having it smuggled in. It’s her own siege, but she doesn’t want the people to starve. She’s been practicing to get better at fighting for the war with the dead. She allowed us to mine the dragonglass. She started before we even arrived. She had other ideas for what to do if the North falls. To protect everyone else. But she decided to join us. Yes, I believe she would take a risk like that just to save lives.”  
Sansa was studying him now.   
“You’re in love with her,” she said.   
He looked at her sharply. “I don’t have time for that,” he said dismissively, shutting down his own thoughts on the subject as well.  
“You can’t let that cloud your thinking. That’s what happened to Robb.”  
“Sansa, you love the North. Don’t you?”  
“You know I do.”  
“What would you have me do? What would you have done? Knowing we will fall, knowing she’s our only chance to beat them? If you’d gone to Dragonstone instead of me. And she didn’t ask you to bend the knee. Would you have allowed the North to die? Or would you have tried to convince her to fight beside us?”  
Sansa sighed. “I just want to protect us. Our family.”  
“That’s what I’m trying to do.”

Daenerys had gone back to her reading and planning, but stopped when she was asked to sit at the table with Jon and Sansa, to address the Lords of the North. Sansa was stating that she’d called all the bannermen to retreat to Winterfell. She ordered a child she called Lord Umber to go back to his home to retrieve his people.   
Had that child ever returned? No, he had died with his men, alone in his house.   
Dany’s heart hurt. She had no say in this.   
They prefer a Lady who would send a child to his death, to me, Dany thought angrily.  
Why had she ever wanted to call this small minded and selfish people her own?  
In her vision, little Lady Lyanna had stood up and berated Jon for bending the knee to Daenerys, and Daenerys couldn’t help but to admire her bluntness, her honesty. This was a fierce little lady, Ser Jorah’s cousin.   
Jon had not bent the knee to Dany this time, but the Northmen were no happier to have her here, and once again, Tyrion stood to speak. He went over the desperate need to work together, pointed out that they’d brought the greatest army the world had ever seen, and three full grown dragons.   
In the vision it had been two full grown dragons, Dany remembered bitterly.  
Dany felt a surge of affection for Tyrion. He had little to gain by attempting to speak with them. Only life. For all of them.   
“May I ask a question?” Sansa’s voice cut through the cold room. “How are we meant to feed the greatest army the world has ever seen? While I ensured our stores would last through the winter, I didn’t account for Dothraki, Unsullied, and three full grown dragons.” Her voice was snapping with anger. As if they’d done her a disservice by arriving to save their lives. “What do dragons eat, anyway?”   
“Whatever they want,” Daenerys responded coolly, unable to resist snapping back as she had in her dream. Sansa turned to her, and Dany met her eyes, unflinching.   
She did not want to be the first to look away, but Jon’s visible discomfort softened her.   
She turned abruptly from Sansa, dismissively, and addressed the angry muttering crowd.  
“We’ve brought provisions for ourselves and for you as well. I had anticipated that Lady Sansa might not have considered the possibility of my forces coming to help...although you were aware, My Lady, that your King had come to me, to ask us to assist you in defending your home, were you not? No matter. I will feed my own men and for the duration of our stay, I’m more than willing to provide for you as well”.  
“You do not need to provide for us,” Sansa spat at her. “We have enough stores to provide for ourselves.”   
“Good,” Dany responded, unperturbed. But she felt her stomach clench. “I’m glad to hear you’ve planned at least for your own men. Still, I like to plan for possible allies as well as my own, in dire circumstances such as this, so please feel free to take from our provisions if the need arises.”  
She had brought provisions for her own men in her vision as well, but had been too angry to mention it. And now she’d been able to brings far more, because of Lady Olenna and Dorne, because of their tremendous generosity.  
She stood to leave, and Tyrion and Jon stood also. She walked as calmly as she could to the courtyard. The cold air on her skin was bitter. She saw Northerners walking about their business. Watching her coldly, their suspicion palpable. They hated her. Because of her father, she thought.   
There was no helping it. Her father had been an evil man, had burned their Lord and his eldest son, and after the Usurper’s death, the rulers of the South had treated the North not far better. They’d fought for their independence, chosen a king.  
She wondered now why she’d been so set against Northern independence. She’d granted it to the Iron Islands.   
But then, the North was much larger than the Iron Islands, and the Iron Islands had offered her ships, offered to fight for her, and supported her claim to the Iron Throne. The North only wanted her to save their lives, and it was starting to become clear that they didn’t even want that. That perhaps they would prefer to die rather than owe their survival to the Mad King’s daughter.  
Small men with small minds, she thought angrily.   
She sighed, and saw Jon walking outside, his eyes searching for her. She turned to him, watched him approach. He looked tired.   
“They don’t know you,” he began.  
“You need not apologize for them,” she said coldly, trying to push down the sting of their blatant rejection, the hurt in her heart that she couldn’t deny. “You told me they were self centered before I arrived here”.  
“They’ve suffered-“  
“We’ve all suffered,” she cut him off. Then her voice softened, remembering her own actions as the result of her suffering. The memory of screams under her firestorm on a city that had surrendered. “I apologize. I understand,” she amended, her voice gentle. “But I’ve only come here to help.”   
“I know,” Jon said and the gratitude and admiration in his voice soothed the ache in her heart. She walked a bit with him, and saw her Dothraki approach her. Her dragons had been feeding.  
She went to her children, and Jon followed.   
She remembered then, this had been the day he’d ridden with her.   
Ridden the dragon who’d been named for his father.   
She had changed many things, and so, many things had happened differently.  
But she didn’t wish to change this. And why should she? She justified. Dragons do better with riders. Jon riding Rhaegal in the Battle for Winterfell had been of crucial value.   
He should have some practice in doing so.  
And Rhaegal was nuzzling him, which moved her as deeply as it had the first time.  
“Go on,” she urged him.  
“I don’t know how to ride a dragon,” he told her with trepidation.  
“Nobody does,” she said. “Until they ride a dragon.”  
“What if he doesn’t want me to?”  
“Then I’ve enjoyed your company, Jon Snow.”  
He stood for a moment in silence, then climbed onto Rhaegal’s back.  
“What do I hold onto?”  
“Whatever you can”.  
He grasped at the scales at the base of Rhaegal’s neck, and Rhaegal took off into the sky.  
Dany allowed herself to smile, then followed.   
She felt once again the comfort of being with him as they’d flown together. She knew they would land at a snowy waterfall. She knew that in that other life he’d held her, kissed her.   
As they soared together she knew she still loved him, completely and utterly. She was angry at herself but there was no way she could think of to stop it, to stay the flood of affection and admiration she felt for him. Why was she such a traitor to herself? To love a man who could not stand up for her? Who could not stand by her? Who had abandoned her and withdrew his love when she’d needed him the most?   
But she did. She loved him. There was no helping it. His courage, his strength, his goodness, was undeniable. And she loved him fiercely, despite herself.   
As she remembered, they landed on a stretch of pristine snow, a waterfall before them, silvery and lovely. Viserion still flew above them. He’d been gone by now in her terrible vision. Bran had coldly informed her that the Night King who had murdered him now enslaved him.   
A dragon is not a slave.  
She’d been given not a moment to grieve this information as the cold eyes of Northerners were fixed on her, waiting for a sign of weakness.  
How utterly all of them had disregarded her, could still hurt her.  
“You’ve completely ruined horses for me,” Jon quipped, after he’d dismounted. She laughed softly.   
She looked at the waterfall. She turned back to him, smiling. “We could stay a thousand years,” she told him. “No one would find us”.  
“We’d be pretty old”, he said with the rare hint of a smile. She acknowledged that with the hint of a laugh, and started toward him.   
He was walking toward her as well and she could hear her heart hammering in her ears.  
“It’s cold up here for a Southern girl.” He observed.   
Then keep your Queen warm, she’d told him. But she wasn’t his Queen, and his warmth wasn’t safe. Not for her.   
Still, she craved it. What would it hurt? She thought. To allow myself these few rare pieces of time torn from the scroll of unrelenting loss and pressure that was their story? Soon he would know of his own claim and pull away from her. Why not have this one moment free of that with him?  
“I’d think a Northerner would have some idea of how to get warm,” she teased him. And then his mouth was on hers and she was lost again, lost to the feel of him in her arms, the scent of snow and leather, sweat and soap, filling her senses as it had before.   
He pulled away, noticing the dragons’ eyes on them. She smiled up at him.   
“Don’t be afraid,” she told him.   
His mouth returned to hers. She knew his eyes kept opening to return to the dragons.   
She knew he felt caution, knew she should have some caution as well. More so. She’d never harmed him, she’d saved his life, and he had murdered her.  
But she would be cautious tomorrow.  
Right now she would simply be.   
She would allow herself to fall into him, go back to his room at Winterfell, allow herself this one time with him. He would turn from her soon enough, and she’d resisted her attraction and love for him so far. Today she would have him.

The early morning light streamed in through the windows of Jon’s room, and she curled up closer to him. He smiled at her drowsily, and she was swamped in love. She studied the scars on him, then looked at his face, watching his expression.   
She ran her fingers lightly over his chest, avoiding the deep scars there.   
“They killed you,” she said softly, in wonder. “But you’re here.”  
“Aye,” he said, his voice low, hesitant.   
“Why did they kill you?”  
He sighed. “It was my brothers in the Night’s Watch. They were angry that I let the free folk south of the Wall.”  
“I’m sorry,” she said, wrapping her arm around him, as if she could somehow protect him. He ran his hand through her hair.   
“I don’t really like to talk about it.”  
She nodded. “I didn’t mean to open old wounds”  
“I know.” He turned to her, studying her face. He leaned in and kissed her again, and she eagerly responded. She could not help the twinge of regret that she hadn’t joined him on his ship. But she was already lost enough to him, she had to be careful.  
She knew people would be awake soon, and it could compromise his position if anyone saw her leaving his room.  
She stood up regretfully, attempting to make herself presentable in the event she ran into anyone on the way back to her own room.   
She planted a kiss on his sleepy beautiful face.   
“You’re leaving?”  
“It might not be ideal for either of us if anyone sees me leaving your room,” she said, smiling at him.   
He wrapped one arm around her and kissed her again, then released her reluctantly.   
She slipped out of his room, and turned to hurry down the hallway, almost running into Tyrion.   
He looked at the closed door of Jon’s room, then at her, at her hastily arranged hair and the dress she’d worn the day before.  
“I’m happy to see you and the King in the North are getting along,” he said lightly, raising his eyebrows.  
She flushed, but there was no point in denying it.  
“I would appreciate your keeping this between us,” she said.  
“Of course, Your Grace.”  
“Thank you,” she said, and rushed back to her room.

***********************************

Daenerys was walking with Ser Jorah, her mind caught up in strategies of battles long past.  
Some of the information she’d gleaned would be immensely helpful in wars to come but would serve her little now.  
She was wondering, if it would it even be possible to flank an army that had such superior numbers? How could a mounted cavalry have any true affect on an undisciplined dead army that were immune to fear, to pain?   
She was carrying one of the books Willas had given her, walking toward the library. She needed to find a map of the land, and preferably a layout of Winterfell as well.  
As they entered, she recognized Samwell Tarly, who stood respectfully as she entered.  
“So you’re the man,” she said.   
“Um...which man...am I...Your Grace?”  
“The man who saved Ser Jorah, when no one else could”.  
“They could,” Ser Jorah said behind her. “They just wouldn’t.”  
“I’ll have to make some changes at the Citadel when I take my throne. A great service deserves a great reward”.  
“Oh...its my pleasure to serve you, Your Grace.”   
“Still, there must be something I could give you.”  
“If it’s not too much trouble, I could use a pardon.”  
“For what crime?”  
“Um...I...borrowed a few books from the Citadel.” Dany exchanged a smile with Ser Jorah. “And also a sword.”  
“From the Citadel?”  
“From my family. It’s been in House Tarly for generations, it would have been mine eventually anyway, but...my father had other ideas.”   
“Not Randyll Tarly.”  
“You know him?”  
Dany was relieved she wasn’t forced to break his heart with news of his father and brother’s deaths, but realized her news was still not going to make him particularly happy.  
“We met on the battlefield,” she said. Sam’s face grew still and she felt his dread. “I gave the men who’d survived the choice to join me, or even to choose neutrality. If they chose neither, I was forced to take them as prisoners.”   
The relief on Sam’s face brought back some of her own relief, but she had more to tell him.   
“Your father and brother chose to be my prisoners.”  
“My father is stubborn,” Sam said with a nervous laugh. “I suppose if they’re your prisoners they can’t very well demand the sword back.”  
“Well...I couldn’t leave the prisoners on Dragonstone to starve. I told them what was happening here, and offered them the choice of going with my allies to a safer place as my prisoners or...or to come here. To fight beside us.” She hesitated. “They chose to join us. They’ll be here in another day or two.”  
“They’re coming here?”  
“Yes. Keep that sword hidden, Samwell Tarly. Your father has not accepted me as Queen, so will likely ignore my pardon, and will not hesitate to take it back if he sees you with it.” She offered a slight smile. “For now it can just stay our secret.”  
Sam smiled nervously. “Thank you, Your Grace.”  
She nodded, and asked “do you know where we might find a map of the area and a layout of Winterfell?”  
He brought her to a table littered with scrolls.   
Daenerys sat down at the table, laid down the book she’d been reading and got to work.   
Except in incidents that had saved the lives of her friends and allies from being lost, she had only rarely been so grateful for the vision as she was now, the vision that had given her insight into how her actions had brought about her ruin. She had not been forced to crush Samwell Tarly while attempting to thank him for saving her friend.

**********************************

Daenerys had decided to walk around outside Winterfell, to clear her mind. She was looking at the snow, the brilliance of everything covered by its pristine blanket. She had never been in such a place, a wintry land of snow and ice and cold. In her vision, she had mostly kept to her rooms, had not allowed herself a moment to appreciate the landscape. But of course in her vision, the Night King had already crossed the Wall with Viserion. They hadn’t any time for much of anything except battle plans.  
She saw a low stone wall, and walked along its length. She saw a group of girls chattering, and they grew silent when they saw her. She didn’t want to walk past them, so she sat, and the girls jumped up and started walking away, looking back at her with a scowl on each face. One girl stayed, staring at her, her intrepid little face openly assessing.   
“Cat, come on,” one of the girls urged.  
Daenerys glanced at them, and they ran off, leaving the little girl still looking at her.   
Her face was indecisive, and Dany looked away from her, biting her lip so it wouldn’t tremble. Even the children here hated her, she thought bitterly. She remembered the children in Essos, reaching out just to touch her as she walked past, how they’d loved her, and wondered again if she should have stayed there, or at least returned once she’d had that vision.  
But if she’d done that, she knew that Lady Olenna and her family would have died. The Sand Snakes would have died. Euron Greyjoy would have taken Yara. Cersei had been at war with them before Dany had arrived here. And then maybe the North would fall to the Night King. And Jon...Jon would die.   
“I’m Catelyn,” the girl said to her, startling her out of her thoughts. “I was named after Lady Catelyn.”  
Daenerys turned to her, surprised. “I’m Daenerys Targaryen.”  
The girl smiled then. “I know that.”  
Daenerys smiled back. Of course you do, she thought.  
“My father said you came here to show us your forces. You’re going to make the King bow to you. So you can be the Queen of everything.”  
Daenerys laughed. The Queen of everything.  
“While I must admit I like the sound of that, that’s not why I’m here.”  
“Why are you here?”   
“Your king told you about the army of the dead?”   
“Yes! He even let us girls start learning how to fight.”  
Daenerys smiled again at that. “Well, he told me about it too. I came here with my armies and dragons to help the North fight. He told us that if we didn’t, the Night King would likely win and then take all of Westeros.”  
“My father said you have no reason to help us fight. He said it doesn’t make sense unless you really just want the North.”  
“I don’t know what will happen in this battle, my lady.”  
“I’m not a lady,” she said quickly. “My father is a blacksmith.”  
“Forgive me. But this battle could end badly. Your King said there was a good chance that the Night King would not be defeated if I didn’t come.”  
“So? Everyone here hates you.” Daenerys winced, but the girl continued, oblivious. “Why would you care?”  
“They...they don’t know me...”  
“They don’t want to know you. They don’t want you here.”  
Daenerys was caught a little off guard by the girl’s striking honesty, and wondered if she would be interested in a place on her council when she was old enough. This level of frankness was rare. She had to respect the honesty of Northerners, that was certain.  
“Your king asked me to come,” she said, forcing her voice into a bland calmness, not to betray how the girl’s words hurt her. She knew it was true, she’d known it before she arrived here, but to be told so, in such a blunt manner, had brushed against a wound in her that hadn’t healed. “I trust him. Do you trust him? Does your father?”  
The girl hesitated. “We do,” she finally said, firmly.  
“I trust him, too.” At least in this matter, I trust him. “And he told me that if I didn’t come to help, the Night King would win the battle. And a lot of people would die.”  
“But if it’s all people who hate you, why do you care? My father said that’s very suspicious.”  
She sighed. “If the Night King wins this battle, he’ll keep moving South. And then the Kingdoms I am looking to rule will be affected.”  
The girl pondered this. “But you could fight them there.”  
“It will be harder to fight them because the Night King’s army will be much larger.”  
“My father said it doesn’t make sense to come here and fight with us just to save us, if you don’t really want to take the King’s crown.”  
Daenerys sighed. “Your father has had bad experiences with Southerners.” The girl nodded avidly in response to that. “So of course he would find it suspicious. But I promise you, I only came to help fight.”  
“You don’t want the North?”  
She laughed. “I do want it. But I can’t force the North into the Seven Kingdoms when you’ve already chosen your king.”  
“My father said you can force us. And you will. That’s why everyone is so mad at King Jon. Because he brought you here and you’re going to force us.”  
Daenerys felt a bubble of fury rise up at that. Did they really think it would be better to be killed and enslaved by the Night King, than to accept her rule?  
The North remembers, they loved to say. The North remembers what it wants to remember and forgets everything else.  
“I’m not,” she said, trying to keep the impatience from her voice. The child was being honest, and Dany couldn’t fault her for that. “I’m not going to force the North to do anything. I agreed to independence for the Iron Islands. Why not the North?”  
“The North is bigger and the Greyjoys offered you ships,” the girl observed.  
Dany laughed again. “You’re a smart little lady,” she said. “But I’m not going to forcibly take the North. You’ll see that in time. But I imagine after all you’ve been through you don’t believe me. I’ll just have to prove it. But I can’t prove that now. Only over time can I show you my intentions.”  
Cat seemed satisfied with that, and sat quietly for a moment.   
“I saw your dragons,” she said suddenly. “They’re scary but kind of beautiful too.”  
Daenerys smiled. “They’re not scary to me.”  
“Because they love you,” Cat said simply. “They defend you.”  
Daenerys nodded. “That’s true. But they’re here to help us defend you too.”  
Cat smiled at that. “It was nice meeting you. I better get back. By now my sister probably tattled on me for talking to you.”  
Daenerys laughed. “True.”  
The girl ran off an Dany watched her.   
Dany had been right. The vision had been right. They hated her. They didn’t want to know her, they would never know her. They were content hating her in ignorance and would just keep hating her no matter what she did.   
But that didn’t matter, she reminded herself. They were weakened by war and scarcity and they would die if she didn’t save them. Jon would die if she didn’t stay. Whatever he felt for her, whether that was opportunistic indifference, infatuation, contempt, she loved him. And maybe he loved her too. She couldn’t let him die.

**********************************

Daenerys had returned from her walk, and was lost in thought about the North and their independence. She could be angry at them all she liked, but she could not deny the validity of their position on that point. They had won their freedom. Why had she wanted to deny it to them?   
She entered the courtyard and noticed a stir, the people looking angry, angrier even than they’d been when she’d first arrived. Had her dragons harmed someone?   
She tried to make out the mutters around her, but they were too many, and it was not as if they trusted her enough to speak freely in front of her.  
She entered the hall, and Jon stood when he saw her. He and Sansa and Bran were sitting at the main table, and Tyrion was sitting beside the table looking at her warily.  
In front of that table, she saw as she approached, was Jaime Lannister.  
What is he doing here? She wondered, and she carefully took the seat they’d saved for her.   
She remembered her vision. She’d coldly went over his crime of killing her father, had railed on him as if he’d killed a benevolent king.   
How foolish of me, she thought. Her father had been a madman set to burn the city. What else could Ser Jaime have done?   
But why was he here?  
They hadn’t brought Cersei a wight. How had he found them?  
“Why are you here, Ser Jaime?” She asked him, her voice cold but cautious not to attack him. He hadn’t made any attempt on her life before. Why should he now?  
He seemed surprised she had recognized him, and she realized she’d never met him. Not now.  
“Tyrion wrote to me. He told me about the threat of the dead army. That you were all here to fight for the living. My sister didn’t want to send what few men she had. But I decided to come and help fight.”  
Daenerys felt a shot of pure rage course through her. She forced it to be still for now. She had berated Tyrion in the hall in her vision, in front of everyone, and she knew now that that had only made them seem weak, made herself seem vindictive. As if she could not get along with her own allies, her own Hand. But she was angry.   
What if Jaime had come to assassinate her? Cersei might be getting desperate, she may have sent him to eliminate her.  
“And how do I know you’re not here to murder me?” She demanded, her voice like ice.   
“If I had, I would not have announced myself.”  
“You might. To make me trust you. But how can I?”  
“You’re right, we cant trust him,” Sansa interjected. “He attacked my father in the street. He tried to destroy my family, the same as he did yours.”   
“Do you want me to apologize?” Jaime demanded. “I won’t. We were at war. Everything I did I did for my house and family, I would do it all again.”  
“The things we do for love,” Bran said, and Jaime stared at him, struck silent.  
Daenerys knew what would happen.   
Brienne would speak for him. Sansa would take her word. Dany knew that none of them cared if he’d only come to murder her. She pressed her hands against the table to keep them from shaking.  
She waited until they finished their discussion, then turned to Tyrion.  
“We need to speak,” she told him, struggling so that her voice would not be a hiss.  
He looked at her anxiously, but followed her to her room.

Daenerys had managed to remain calm in the hall, but as soon as they entered the privacy of the war room, she rounded on Tyrion, incensed.  
“What were you thinking?” She demanded.  
“I was hoping that my brother could convince Cersei to send men,” he said. “And if we fall in the battle, I thought they needed to know what’s coming.”  
“And now Cersei knows where we are.”  
“It’s not as if she can do anything-“  
“She can solidify her position,” Dany stormed. Too well she remembered how Cersei had paid the Golden Company, building her strength, lining the walls with Scorpions.  
“She’s under siege,” Tyrion said. “She has no money.”  
Dany paced the room, trembling with rage. He had betrayed her! Just as in her dream.   
“This is treason. You wrote to my enemies, told them my position, without my knowledge, when I’d said I didn’t want her to know.”  
She saw his face, and realized he was terrified. She felt a wave of shame then, and hurt.   
She would not allow herself to start crying in front of him. He had betrayed her, there could be no question in that. He’d written to her enemies after she’d specifically told him not to. But what did he think she would do? Burn him alive?   
But then, she thought, what should she do? He had informed on her. She knew he wanted to have his family protected. And maybe he really didn’t care if it meant endangering her.   
Just like Jon, she thought. She was heartsick. They would all betray her for their family. Every one of them.  
None of them would protect her, she thought. She couldn’t trust anyone. She had no family except Jon, and he was clearly not concerned with their familial bond except to reject her. His loyalty was with his other family.   
“Leave me,” she said, finally. She knew she would break down and she wanted privacy.   
“Your Grace. I am sorry.”  
“You aren’t sorry. You should have told me. Just...go. Please.”  
Tyrion looked as if he would say something else, but he left the room.   
She sat down and allowed herself to weep. She had trusted him. Had given him another chance even after that horrible vision. And he’d turned on her anyway.   
She was tired of crying. She had found herself close to tears much more often since her vision. Where had the dragon-wielding conqueror gone? How had she allowed herself to become a fragile little girl, weeping at the resentful coldness of the Northerners, the betrayal of those she’d thought friends, the constant fear?  
But she wondered if maybe this was not the worst thing. She hadn’t allowed herself to cry, to break down, in her vision. And maybe that was what she needed. To break down.   
What happens to things that don’t bend?   
She’d asked her advisors years ago. And in her vision she had become rigid and unbending. And then she had broken.  
She knew that it could only be harmful for Cersei to know her position and location. No good could come of it.   
Had Tyrion Lannister become somehow incompetent? His counsel had destroyed her in her vision. Was he truly working against her this entire time? Or was it more complicated than that?   
He loved his family. She knew that. Whatever bitterness and anger he felt for them, he loved them.   
But did that necessarily mean he didn’t want her to succeed?   
She had never felt so confused and lost.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all so much for your comments and advice. You all are giving me life, seriously! For this chapter, Daenerys finally gets to have an actual conversation with Arya. I wanted them to be friends and it made no sense to me that they didn’t get to even talk. I also really really wanted Tyrion to ride a dragon, so that’s happening lol. I was not a fan of the strategy they used in the Long Night, and Dany wants to protect her armies, so the war council meeting goes quite differently. And Jon tells her about his parentage, and having had much more time to think about it, she’s kinder about his feelings than she was before. I hope you enjoy it! :-)

Chapter Five 

Daenerys stared into the fire roaring in the fireplace. Alone in her quarters, she tried to quell the anger, hurt, and fear that roared through her. She was angry still over Tyrion writing to his brother. And the anger that the North would not accept her as their Queen, was just as fierce as it had been before. But she’d made peace with it, or at least she’d thought she did. 

She reminded herself that her family had built the Red Keep, not the North. That she’d wanted to break the wheel that had crushed those under it; but here in the North, the wheel crushed them no longer. They’d chosen their ruler, and wasn’t that what she’d wanted for her people after all? Hadn’t she left that legacy in Meereen? The freedom to choose.

Freedom means making your own choice, she had told a man in Meereen.

The hurt was worse. They resented her even though she’d only come to help. Hated her because of her father. She had fervently hoped in her vision that Jon’s people would like her. She was embarrassed by that now, and the hurting was thick in her throat.

And the worst of it was the fear. Only the benefit of the vision she’d received had guided her to the changes she’d made thus far. If it wasn’t enough, Ser Jorah could die.

And what of those spears the Night King and his White Walkers carried? What if the armor and training wasn’t enough? Losing a dragon had broken her heart before, but if it happened again, even armed with her knowledge, she could never forgive herself. 

Ser Jorah entered the room quietly. 

“Forgive me, Khaleesi,” he said.

She smiled at him. “Have you done something to offend me?”

“Many things.”

“Long ago and long forgiven”.

“But you did forgive. Despite my failures.” He hesitated. “When I’d heard you’d named Tyrion your Hand, it broke my heart.”

“When I named him my Hand I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again.” 

“You made the right choice.”

“I wasn’t under the impression you liked him very much.”

“I didn’t. His mouth hardly stopped moving from Volantis to Meereen, it was all I could do not to throw him into the sea...but the mind behind all those words...”

He’s made mistakes, she remembered saying in her dream, serious mistakes.

As have we all, Ser Jorah had responded.   
And hadn’t they? Hadn’t she? Wasn’t she only able to stop the disasters that had befallen them because of a vision? 

He owns his mistakes, Ser Jorah had added, and learns from them.

Indeed, Dany thought. And she was trying to do the same. 

“His mind was why I chose him,” she conceded. “And it’s far sharper when he has wine,” she quipped. “Still, he should have told me he was writing to his brother.”

Ser Jorah nodded. “That may be,” he said. “But you have effectively shut down any way that Cersei could reinforce her position. And I do believe Tyrion had the best interest of you and Westeros in mind.” 

She sighed. “You’re probably right, but...he needs to be more honest with me.”

“I agree. And that you should discuss with him” 

She nodded. “I will. When I’m less angry. Right now I can’t even look at him.”

“I have another suggestion. If you’ll allow me.”

Dany felt a sudden dread. Ser Jorah would now suggest she try to go make peace with Sansa Stark.

Dany was angry at Sansa Stark. This woman had only treated her with cold derision. In that other life, she’d endangered Dany by betraying Jon’s secret after vowing silence. Hadn’t Varys betrayed her then? Tried to poison her? 

But she knew Ser Jorah was right. If they were to be allies it was certainly best to have a measure of peace. And what of after?

She didn’t want the North plotting against her. That had not worked in her favor before.

“All right. I’ll go talk to her. But afterwords I want to practice a bit more. They have a training area here.”

“That sounds like a fair exchange. I’ll go wait for you there.”

“The moment we can get the last infantrymen out on the field, we should shut the gates”, Lord Royce was telling Lady Sansa as Daenerys entered the library.

“Leave them open for as long you can,” Lady Sansa responded. “There are still people coming in from the countryside.”

Daenerys stepped into the room. She felt sick. She was angry at herself for being nervous.

Lord Royce and Lady Sansa both stood when they saw her.

“Lady Sansa, I was hoping we could speak alone,” she said. Lord Royce looked at Lady Sansa questioningly, and she nodded. He gave a slight bow, then walked to the door, stopping before Dany to bow to her as well, then left the room.

She had begun by talking about Jaime in her vision. About Tyrion’s mistake in trusting Cersei, and Dany’s as well. None of that had happened now. 

“We have much in common,” Dany finally noted, sitting down. Sansa had waited for her to sit, and then sat as well. “We’ve both known what means is to lead people who aren’t inclined to accept a woman’s rule. And we’ve both done a damn good job of it from what I can tell.” A slight smile played at Sansa’s mouth at that. Dany went on. “And yet I can’t help feeling that we’re at odds with one another. Why is that?” Sansa opened her mouth as if to speak, but was silent. Perhaps finding the right words was hard for her too. “Your brother.”

“He loves you,” Sansa said. “You know that.”

Did she know that? 

“That bothers you.”

“Men do stupid things for women. They are easily manipulated.”

Dany remembered the words she had spoken the last time they’d had this conversation. She hesitated and then repeated them.

“All my life I’ve known one goal. The Iron Throne. Taking it back from people who destroyed my family and almost destroyed yours. My war was against them. Until I met Jon. Now I’m here, half a world away, fighting Jon’s war alongside him. Tell me. Who manipulated whom?” 

Sansa allowed a small laugh, then leaned toward Dany. “I should have thanked you. The moment you arrived. That was a mistake.” She stretched out her hand on the table, in the first open gesture she’d made since they’d met. 

Dany had told Sansa in the dream, that she was there because she loved Jon. But wasn’t that the truth? Wasn’t the heaviest of the burdens for her, the knowledge that if she had refused to join in the fight, Jon would in all likelihood die? And the thought was painful to think about, even now. 

“I’m here because...I care for your brother. I trusted him, when he said that he needed me here.” Dany took Sansa’s offered hand.

She hesitated before speaking again. She couldn’t declare the same trust in Jon that she had in her dream. 

Not after he vowed that she was his Queen, pressed his mouth to hers, then murdered her. 

“He said he needed my help, and I couldn’t in good conscience refuse him.”

Sansa nodded. “What happens afterwards?” She asked. “We defeat the dead. We destroy Cersei. What happens then?”

“I take the Iron Throne,” she said, watching Sansa’s face. Did Sansa want the throne? Was that it?

“What about the North?” Sansa asked. “It was taken from us, and we took it back, and we swore we would never bow to anyone again. What about the North?”

Sansa’s voice had lost all emotion save the cold steel of purpose. 

In her vision, Dany had been angry. She remembered the anger. She still felt it’s sharp edge. 

In her vision, she’d given in to her anger. Jon had already bent the knee to her. It had cost her Viserion’s life and had possibly cost them all the Lannister soldiers because Jon had told Cersei as much. Sansa was making it clear she would break the promise Jon had made to Dany that had cost her so much. Dany had snatched her hand back, glared in rage at Sansa. 

But no such promises had been made now, no such cost had been incurred. And as much as it angered her to simply let the Northern kingdom go, she’d already accepted it. Already decided it was not worth the horror of what had come after. 

Dany swallowed hard against her fury. 

Freedom means making your own choice, she reminded herself again.

She remembered her own words and wondered how she’d lost herself and her path so badly in her vision.

“What about the North?” Dany finally repeated. She did not pull back her hand this time, but rather tightened her hold lightly, supportively. “I can’t make promises for what Cersei will do if I don’t win my war against her, but your brother told me the North would never accept a Southern ruler. It’s as you said, it was taken from you and you took it back. You chose your ruler. My family built the Red Keep, not the North. It’s not as if you have a cruel despot as a ruler. You chose well. I will not seek to end your independence.” 

“I mean no offense, Your Grace, but how can I believe that?”

Dany sighed. “I suppose since you don’t know me, you cannot believe that. I give you my word, for what it’s worth to you. And when you know me better, you’ll know I don’t break my word.”

Sansa nodded. Dany could see she had difficulty trusting her words. Dany wasn’t angry now, it had rushed out of her in her memory of what she’d wanted to do from the first. 

To leave the world better than she’d found it. The world included the North, and it would not be better for them to have her force her rule on them. 

Hadn’t they been interrupted in her vision?   
Yes, by Theon’s arrival. He had rescued his sister and there were only a few ships. Not fit to sail. None of that had happened now. Theon had arrived days before with Dany’s Unsullied and had already presented himself to Lady Sansa to fight for Winterfell. 

“For now, we’ll focus our energy on the Night King. Destroying him and his army.”

She was glad now that she’d followed Ser Jorah’s suggestion to speak to Sansa, but was more glad that it was over. She approached the training area, and took off her long fur coat, revealing the black and red pants and tunic beneath it. She wasn’t wearing armor, but she knew she wouldn’t need it for practice. She watched the two women who were sparring. She recognized the tall, strong Brienne of Tarth. The other woman was much smaller, with her hair worn much like Jon’s. Her face was pretty, slashed by eyebrows that gave her little face an appearance of command. And she moved with a catlike grace that left Dany speechless with admiration. 

I could train for a hundred years and never be that good, she thought. 

The fight looked like a dance, and Dany wondered how clumsy she would look sparring with Ser Jorah after such a performance. 

When the two women had finished, they walked toward the group, and the girl caught Dany’s eyes. 

“You’re practicing next?” She asked. 

“Unfortunately for me,” she said with a laugh. At the girl’s quizzical look, Dany added her thoughts about how clumsy she would appear after this girl’s fast, light movement and Brienne’s pure strength and acumen. 

“I’m Arya Stark,” the girl introduced herself. 

How had she not met Arya Stark all through her last vision? She wondered. 

“I’m Daenerys Targaryen,” she said. There was simply no time now for titles.

“I know,” Arya said, almost smiling. “Well go on, Ser Jorah has been waiting here. It’s your turn.”

Dany nodded, and walked into the center to begin her practice.

Once she began, she forgot about the eyes on her. Forgot how she would be unfavorably compared to the masters who’d practiced just before her. She thought only of the man in front of her, who had died in her arms because she had not been able to provide the same protection to him that he had provided her. She thought only of what strength she’d built over the last few moons. Only the hard glint of conviction that she must not lose him again. 

She was sweating when they finished, but she felt good. She left the circle with Ser Jorah and walked toward the other people. 

They were staring at her, and she wouldn’t allow herself to care about that. She may seem clumsy to them, to seasoned fighters, but she knew she was better than she had been before and that was far more important. Tomorrow morning she would practice her archery and then back to the study of military strategies. 

She was thinking about communication now, how in the thick blizzard and darkness of night, the living army had lost contact with each other. As she thought about the plans, an idea occurred to her, and she frowned, lost in her thoughts. She returned to her room to look through her books to find examples that would support her idea.

********************************

Tyrion was anxious when Daenerys approached him. He knew she was still angry. 

“I would like to try something,” she told him. “I have an idea but I don’t know how well it would work out.”

He followed her outside with some trepidation, which grew as they approached her dragons. 

“I explained why I wrote to my brother,” he said nervously as all three dragons growled in his direction.

“You did,” she said, turning to him. “And I explained that you should have told me. I specifically didn’t want Cersei to know our position.”

“I apologize, Your Grace, I should have discussed it with you first.” 

“Yes,” she said coolly. “You should have. But we’ve already gone over it, so there’s no point in pressing it.” 

He could see under the cool exterior there was hurt, and oddly, a layer of sheer terror. He’d noticed it before, and again, he wanted to comfort her somehow. He hadn’t ever truly seen her afraid, at least not outwardly, and he wanted to know what had happened to scare her. What in all Seven Kingdoms or the continents beyond, could have so terrified this conquering force, the Mother of Dragons? 

Something had changed in her. That night they’d believed she’d been poisoned, perhaps she believed it too? Was that where the fear had been born in her? 

But, no. People had tried to poison her before. She’d only grown fiercer. 

He didn’t have time to continue wondering, because she’d approached her magnificent children and was saying something to them in High Valyrian.

Tyrion’s mouth had gone dry. How angry was she? Angrier than he’d thought if she’d decided to bring him before her dragons. 

“You always speak to them in High Valyrian,” he observed, keeping his voice level.

“I do. I usually speak the common tongue in conversation, and I wanted specific words when they were very young, to guide them. For fire, especially, I didn’t want a word that could be spoken by mistake and accidentally cause a conflagration.”

“That makes sense.”

She had begun to focus her words and attention on Viserion now, and after a moment, she glanced back at Tyrion. “All right,” she said. “Come closer.”

“I would prefer to stand over here if that’s all right,” he said. 

She turned around. “He won’t hurt you unless I ask him to. Or you attack me.”

“Are you going to ask him to?” 

She looked at him sharply. “Do you think I would do that?” Again the hurt was in her face, the fear. 

“I know you were angry at me.”

“I was angry. I’m still angry. So you think I would burn you alive?” She demanded.

“I like to think you wouldn’t, but...” he broke off as her mouth started to tremble, and she suddenly sat down on a large stone and dropped her head into her hands. 

He was still frightened to approach her, more so now that she’d collapsed onto the rock and all three dragons were glaring at him, as if angry at him for upsetting their mother. But her small shoulders were shaking and he realized she was crying. He cautiously walked over to her, sat down on the rock beside her, gingerly resting his hand on her back. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked gently. 

She looked at him and tears streaked her beautiful face. “Everyone thinks I’m a monster,” she told him. “Why did you follow me?”

“I don’t think you’re a monster, Your Grace-“

“You think I would burn you.”

“You might think writing to my brother was treason. You said so. You might see it as insubordination.” He certainly didn’t want to give her a reason to burn him, but he did want her to understand why he’d thought for a moment that she would. “And you have a temper. You know you do.”

“I thought we were friends,” she said, and her voice was thick, heavy with sadness. “And now you’re looking at me like they do. The North. They hate me. No matter what I do they’ll always hate me.”

“They’re fools,” he said. 

“You’re seeing me the same way now. The Mad King’s daughter. As if I’ll burn you because you disobeyed one order after all we’ve been through together. Your loyalty will be turned, you’ll do what Sansa wants you to do even if it...” she broke off and her head fell back into her hands. 

“Sansa? What is it you think Sansa wants me to do?” She shook her head but didn’t answer. “This has nothing to do with her,” he went on. “You were angry that I wrote to Jaime, you definitely threw the word treason around when you found out. And then next time I see you, you want me to come very close to your dragons. Surely you can see why I was concerned.”

“Viserion knows you. You took off his chains in the catacombs. I just wanted to see something,” she said, her voice small and still trembling. 

“What did you want to see?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m stupid. I was stupid to even come here.”

“You are far from stupid. I used to pride myself on my intellect, but I’d have gotten the Tyrells killed if we’d followed my original strategy. I certainly didn’t think that Euron Greyjoy would attack Lady Yara. I didn’t think about how a siege would starve the people of Kings Landing...well, I thought about it. I just didn’t think of a way to address it without defeating the purpose of the siege.”

She sniffled then, wiping impatiently at her tears. “I keep thinking I’ll be able to earn some kind of goodwill here, but it will never happen. I know better, but I keep hoping. I never should have come to Westeros. No one here will ever see me as anything but my father’s daughter.”

Tyrion felt suddenly guilty. He had no idea what had instilled such fear in her. But the North had apparently convinced her that she would only ever be reviled, hated, feared in Westeros, and he had apparently confirmed that notion.

“That’s not true, Your Grace. Remember when we met your allies for the first war council? You said you knew that your allies were gathered out of hatred for Cersei, not love for you. That was true at the time. Mostly true. But now you’ve saved the Tyrells. You kept your promise to Lady Yara to deliver her uncle to her. You have earned their loyalty, and once you dethrone Cersei you will have Dorne’s loyalty.”

“Why did you follow me?” She repeated.

“Because I believe in you. Because I think the world will be better when you’re finished with it.”

“Yet you thought I would burn you alive for writing to your brother.”

“It’s as you said, it’s not that simple. I was wrong. I should have come to you. Now my sister knows our position. But that’s not why I wrote to him. I wrote to him because I hoped they would...” 

“I know what you hoped. You explained it.”

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. You’ve shown restraint in a few situations now, and I should not have assumed you would murder me.”

She sighed. “It’s because these people here are people you’ve known, so you’re seeing me the way they do. I’m a foreign invader. I’ll never be accepted as one of you. They hate me and soon you will too.”

“I don’t hate you. I’m never going to hate you.”

She shuddered. “It doesn’t matter,” she finally said, and he could see her pushing the sadness aside. He wished he could convince her. 

I thought we were friends, she’d said. That statement, the hurt in her voice, had stirred something deeply protective in him. It was often easy to forget that she could be vulnerable, that her heart could ache at the cold reception she’d received in the North. It felt ludicrous that this conqueror would be felled by hurt feelings, even more ludicrous that Tyrion should want to protect her when she was well able to protect herself. And even if she wasn’t, her armies were unmatched and she had three dragons.

But her face had cleared, only the redness around her eyes and swollen mouth showed any sign of her having cried at all. The imperious queen had returned and the fragile girl had disappeared again. 

She stood up, taking a deep breath. “Now that we’ve established I have not brought you here for my children’s meal, would you please come over here with me?” 

He hesitated but he followed her. “Even if you don’t intend to feed me to him, I’m sure you can understand my concerns,” he said, making sure to stand behind her. 

“Viserion is the gentlest of my children. He remembers you. Come closer.” 

He obeyed her, but his heart was hammering. He remembered the last time he’d approached the dragons. He’d spoken to them, and they seemed to understand, if not his words at least his intent. “Is this close enough?”

“I want you to touch him.”

He was shaking, but he did as she told him, and she too was stroking the dragon’s golden scales, murmuring to him in Valyrian. He reached up to touch Viserion, who leaned closer to let him. He felt excitement building in him. The heat and power under his hands filled him with awe.

But he was relieved when she finally figured out whatever the fuck she’d wanted to see, and they walked back to Winterfell.

“How well can you ride a horse?” She asked him suddenly.

“Fairly well. Not like you and your Dothraki, but well enough.”

“Good.”

“What did you want to see?” He asked again.

“My dragons are bonded to me. I hatched them and nursed them and raised them. I really didn’t know a lot about dragons when they were born, and I’ve been reading about them. I wanted to see if they could...not bond with someone else exactly, but...something akin to it.”

“You wanted him to bond with me?”

“Something like that, yes.”

“Why?” 

“I’m not going to be able to think quickly and objectively during this battle. We’ve already well established my tendency to react emotionally.”

He glanced at her. “How will my bonding with Viserion change that?”

“I’m working it out.”

Walking through the courtyard of Winterfell, Daenerys saw Jon talking to a few men who’d arrived, and with them was little Ned Umber and his house. The Night King had not been able to cross the Wall yet, not having a dragon, and they’d returned safely. Daenerys allowed herself a smile at that. The boy and his house would never know she’d saved them with her vision, but she knew and it made her happy. 

She felt surprisingly comforted by the conversation with Tyrion. She was embarrassed that she’d allowed herself to burst into tears in front of him like that. But maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.   
Maybe it was good for him to know she was vulnerable. It was more honest. 

She entered the hall and saw Ser Jaime, gathering supplies to go outside and practice sparring. He saw her and nodded in greeting. 

“Ser Jaime,” she responded, nodding back.  
She started to walk back to her room.

“I’m not here to murder you,” he said, and she turned around to face him. “And Tyrion truly meant no harm to you in writing to me. He is loyal to you. I know my word doesn’t mean much to you. But that’s the truth. I didn’t come to harm you. I only came to help fight.”

“My word doesn’t mean much to the people here either,” she confessed. “They think I’m here to seize the North. So I suppose we have that in common.”

“You didn’t murder their father.”

She sighed. “My mistrust for you has nothing to do with my father, to be honest. You’re the brother of my enemy.”

“So is your Hand.”

“You just said he’s loyal to me. You’re loyal to your sister.”

“Yes. But she didn’t want me to come at all. If she hires an assassin to kill you, it won’t be me.”

“I suppose that’s a comfort,” she said with a small smile. 

“I’m hoping you take my word. It was a different situation with your father.”

She nodded, with difficulty. “I know,” she finally said. “I know what he was. I doubt your conscience could have bothered you over it. But if it did, even for a minute, let me say as his daughter that you did the right thing. He was going to burn the city with wildfire. Your brother told me.”

He was looking at her now and she could not read his expression. “Thank you,” he finally said. “It’s true my conscience didn’t trouble me much over your father. But...your mother.”

“My mother?”

“She was a kind woman. A good woman who deserved better than your father. I didn’t protect her, I didn’t protect her children. Or your brother’s children. I was sorry about that. I was sorry she never really got to enjoy having a baby girl. She knew. When she was pregnant with you, she knew you were a girl. She was happy. She didn’t get to be happy all that much.”

Daenerys was staring at him, a lump forming in her throat. “Thank you for telling me this,” she said softly. “I was sorry I never got to know her.”

“I was too. She was a good mother. Very loving. She told me she hoped her daughter would have the strength she felt she didn’t. She was much stronger than she gave herself credit for. But you...she would be so proud of you. I...wanted to tell you. You’re the last of your line...until you have children of your own.”

She winced. I can’t have children, she thought, and I’m not the last of my line.

Jaime noticed the expression and frowned. “I know you...were pregnant before,” he said. She looked at him sharply. “I was there when Robert found out. I am not trying to upset you, but...I’m assuming you lost the child. Your mother had trouble too. She had ten pregnancies but only three children who survived. You might have trouble, as she did. But it doesn’t mean you can’t have children at all.”

She sighed. “The witch who murdered my husband cursed my womb.”

Jaime laughed at that and she glared at him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But I’ve heard again and again that Targaryens do not bow to gods or men. You’ve brought back dragons. I’m sure when the time is right you’ll be able to have children. But at least talk to a maester instead of taking advice from someone who clearly meant you harm.”

She bit her lip thoughtfully. Someone called Jaime from outside, and he nodded at her again and took his leave.

She walked back to her room, thinking abut what he’d said. 

She allowed her mind to wander for a moment. To think about how it would be to hold a child of her own in her arms.

She had to consciously force those thoughts away. 

Tonight would be their war council. In her vision, the battle strategy had cost her far too much. She knew lives would be lost no matter what she did. But the plans, born of panic perhaps, or of priorities that clearly didn’t include her or her men, had destroyed too many of her own. 

She knew these Northerners hated her. And while she knew now she should have agreed to their independence in her vision, she also knew that she’d come here to fight for them without threatening their independence now, and they had treated her as if she was worth less than the dirt beneath their feet. 

But she had to pull up all her strength. They would listen to her about the battle plan, or she would take her men and leave.

They would not use her men as human shields, she vowed. 

The last time Daenerys had sat on the Winterfell war council, the dead were almost upon them. The Night King had Viserion, and they’d wasted too much time on the treat with Cersei.

“They’re coming,” Jon said. “We have dragonglass and Valyrian steel. But there are too many of them. Far too many. Our enemy doesn’t tire. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t feel. We can’t beat them in a straight fight.”

“So what can we do?” Ser Jaime asked.

“The Night King made them all. They follow his command. If he falls...getting to him might be our best chance,” Jon told them.

“If that’s true, he’ll never expose himself,” Jaime pointed out. 

“Yes he will,” Bran said. The room turned to him. “He’ll come for me. He’s tried before, many times, with many Three Eyed Ravens.”

“Why?” Sam asked him. “What does he want?”

“An endless night. He wants to erase this world. And I am it’s memory.”

“That’s what death is, isn’t it? Forgetting,” Sam said. “Being forgotten. If we forget where we’ve been, what we’ve done, we’re not men anymore...just animals. Your memories don’t come from books. Your stories aren’t just stories. If I wanted to erase the world of men, I’d start with you.”

“How will he find you?” Tyrion asked.

“His mark is on me,” Bran said, showing them the silvery grey hand print on his arm. “He always knows where I am.”

“We’ll put you in the crypt, where it’s safest,” Jon said.

“No,” Bran said. “We need to lure him into the open before his army destroys us all. I’ll wait for him in the Godswood.”

“You want us to use you as bait,” Sansa said.

“We’re not leaving you alone out there,” Arya said. 

“He won’t be,” Theon said. “I’ll stay with him. With the Ironborn.” He looked at Bran. “I took this castle from you. Let me defend you now.”  
They nodded at each other, and Jon nodded as well.

“We’ll hold off the rest of them for as long as we can,” Ser Davos said. 

Daenerys listened to the discussion. The same discussion except that Lord Tarly was here as well. He had offered nothing to the conversation and was scowling at the map on the table as if offended by it, occasionally shaking his head. 

“When the time comes, Ser Davos and I will be on the walls, to give you the signal to light the trench,” Tyrion was saying. 

Daenerys remembered, she had demanded he stay in the crypts. 

Where he would be safe, she’d said.

She remembered now, the bodies of women and children being carried from the crypts because the Night King had raised the dead in the middle of the battle. The crypts had shaken with sudden virulent life that was no life. The dead had scratched their way out of their tombs and attacked the people there. She remembered the relief that had almost brought her to her knees when she saw Missandei and Tyrion emerge unharmed.

“I have another plan for you,” Dany told Tyrion. “If you’re willing.” 

He looked at her and nodded hesitantly. “All right.”

“The dragons should give us an edge on the field,” Ser Davos continued.

“If they’re on the field, they’re not protecting Bran,” Jon said. “We need to be near him. Not too near, or the Night King won’t come. But close enough to pursue him when he does.”

“Dragonfire will stop him?” Asked Arya.

“I don’t know. No ones ever tried,” Bran said. In the silence that followed, Bran glanced at Dany and she shook her head imperceptibly. “No,” Bran amended. “It won’t.” 

The room exchanged nervous glances.

“We’re all going to die,” Tormund said suddenly. “But at least we die together.”

Daenerys knew they were finished planning, and she steeled her nerves. 

“I have some things I must say,” she said, and turned to Jon. “Forgive me, Your Grace, I mean no offense, but I would like to speak plainly.”

Jon nodded. “Of course, your Grace.”

“First and foremost. The crypts. I have no doubt they’re the safest place when fighting an ordinary enemy. But we are fighting an enemy who can raise the dead. I’m not convinced the crypts are the best idea. If the Night King raises the dead during battle, to add to his ranks, that would include those in the crypts, wouldn’t it? Your most vulnerable people would be trapped there. You have other passageways where there are no tombs. I think that would be better. This way if we fall, the women and children may escape.” The way the gathering of people looked at each other, she could see they felt foolish for not considering this. But hadn’t she neglected it as well? She’d been all too eager to trust whatever Jon said, and it was only her vision that had warned her of the tragic outcome.

“There are not enough trenches,” she went on. “You have placed our soldiers in front of the only trench. This will not prevent attack but may hinder retreat. The castle lacks the natural defenses that could force the dead into approaching in smaller numbers. The Vale would have been better. The wights can climb, you said, but there’s no good reason not to build obstacles to slow them down. We have to have trenches and barricades further from the castle.” She ran her finger over the map to demonstrate what she was talking about, moving pieces around. 

“Next,” she continued, “a cavalry should not be used as a first line of defense. My Dothraki are here to fight for you. They are willing to do so and die if necessary. But having them rush out into the night the way you intend, is only using them as fodder. I value their lives far too much to throw them away on a charge that will not only be of little help but will become a problem for us if they die and are resurrected by the Night King. We’ve essentially handed him a cavalry. They’re excellent archers. They could provide support for the Unsullied by attempting to flank the wights between the barrier lines and taking the dead down with arrows. We don’t have the numbers, but obstacles will help.”

She glanced at the faces around her. “I’m open to other ideas,” she assured them. 

“Please continue,” Randyll Tarly demanded. 

She nodded. “The trebuchets,” she went on. “This strategy would waste them almost entirely. They’re outside the walls, exposed and vulnerable. If our forces must retreat, the trebuchets will be lost.” She kept speaking, explaining all the things from her vision, now laid before her, that she’d somehow not known were disastrously wrong until it was far too late. The walls were undermanned. The archers underutilized. Did they not have pitch to pour over the walls? Finally she came to the issue of communication. “Grey Worm will command my Unsullied from the ground.” She glanced at Grey Worm, who nodded. She turned back to Jon, whose eyes were fixed on her, glittering and inscrutable. “You have field commanders for your ground armies?” He nodded. “Good. We have only Ser Davos on the tower. Alone. If more than one unexpected incident happens we’ll need a second person there. Someone who, like Ser Davos, can think quickly if our first plan fails.”

“That was supposed to be me,” Tyrion pointed out.

Dany turned to him. “Yes. But I’ll need you for something else.” She sighed. “I am not a strategist.”

“Well you’ve certainly been presenting an excellent imitation of one,” Ser Davos offered with a faint smile. 

“I’ve been poring over books that outlined past battles in preparation,” she explained. “But in the moment, if something changes, I’m not going to be able to come up with something new, that quickly. I tend to react emotionally. This is why I’ve chosen advisors who are less likely to do so. As Jon and I provide fire from the sky, he will be primarily focused on Bran, and as I said, I’m not certain I’ll be able to devise a new strategy, a flexible strategy, in the middle of the battle if the need comes up. I’ll need someone in the air with us, who can” She turned to Tyrion. “The best thing for all of us is if you ride with me and Jon.”

Tyrion stared at her. “Ride...with you?”

“You will ride Viserion, if you’re willing,” she clarified. “He knows you.”

“I can’t ride a dragon,” Tyrion argued, but she could see his fear was eclipsed by excitement.

“So you’ll learn.”

“I think I might be...” he broke off, hesitating. 

“Go on,” she urged. 

“Too small,” he said, flushing. “I might not be able to-“

“Everyone is small when riding a dragon. If you practice and you don’t feel confident, we’ll come up with something else. You’ll be just as safe on him as you would be on the tower. But there are some things we have to remember. First, the Night King and his walkers carry ice spears. I have light chain mail armor for the dragons and they’ve practiced dodging, but the Night King has been waiting for this for thousands of years. He’s far more ready for us than we are for him. If he strikes a dragon and kills him, the rider could fall off and die from the fall, or be killed by wights. We will be in the middle of battle and will not have time to burn a dragon’s body. The Night King will no doubt raise the dragon. I have no interest in fighting an enemy who has a dragon and even less interest in watching one of my children be murdered and enslaved. Avoid those spears if possible. Next, do not fly low. It will be tempting but don’t do it. The wights will climb the dragon, who will shake them off and may shake you off too. You’ll land in a nest of them and be overpowered.” 

She finished speaking and swallowed hard, wishing desperately that she had some water. She felt like she’d been talking for an eternity and the silence in the room made her feel self conscious.

“You were saying someone should be on the tower with Ser Davos,” Brienne reminded her.   
“If Lord Tyrion will be on a dragon, who did you have in mind for the Tower?”

Dany hesitated. “I don’t command the entire army,” she began.

“Please continue,” Jon urged. 

“Well...” she turned to Randyll Tarly. “You won the Battle of Ashford for my father in Robert’s Rebellion. It was the only victory his armies had in the entire war. Even my brother never managed to win a victory against Robert Baratheon. If you are willing to accept this task, I need your word that we will be allies in this battle. I can’t have you intentionally thinning out my armies to the benefit of your Queen.”

“You would take my word on this?”

Once again, she felt the pricking of fear. Trusting enemies had never served anyone. “You’ve kept your word to make no escape attempts,” she reasoned out loud. “And you wouldn’t be here at all if not for your honor in refusing to pretend to have loyalty or neutrality. I see no cause to mistrust your word if you give it. Will you give me your word and accept this task?”

Randyll Tarly nodded. “You have my word. In this battle, we are allies. I will do nothing to intentionally harm your men. I will accept this task.” 

She nodded her thanks. 

“We also need to remember how visibility will be affected. You’ve fought them,” she said, turning to Jon. “You said the Night King brings a storm with him. How well were you able to see everything?”

“Not well,” he said, sighing. 

“And have you fought him at night?”

“No.”

“It will be very difficult for us to see each other. We have to be mindful of that and prepare in whatever way we can.”

She nodded at them, indicating she was finished.

Jon was staring at her with an expression she couldn’t identify, but turned away when Dany looked back at him. “Get some rest,” he told the room. Once the room cleared, she turned back to Jon. “Your Grace,” he said, and walked out of the room abruptly.

He knows, she thought sadly. If she hadn’t lived this night before, she’d have thought he was angry at her for questioning his plan.

But when she had lived this night before, she had not questioned it at all. And he had walked away from her with the same coldness. She’d had no idea why.

She saw Bran watching her, that distant gaze that saw everything. She nodded at him, and he nodded back at her.

“He doesn’t know yet what to make of it”, Bran told her, and she felt suddenly cold.

“Make of what?” Tyrion asked, looking from Dany to Bran.

“It doesn’t matter,” Bran said softly.

“It doesn’t matter yet,” Dany corrected, unable to keep still now. “You could have told him after the war.”

“After our war or your war?”

“Both wars, but especially the Great War. He could have used at least that measure of peace of mind”.

He nodded. “I suppose so. I thought it best for him to know as soon as possible.” 

Dany had no response for that. How could she explain to someone with no emotions, the damage that this had done to Jon’s? To hers, in the vision? 

“Any of us could die in this battle,” Bran clarified. “I didn’t want him to die not knowing”.

She turned on him sharply then, her eyes on fire. “He will not die in this,” she said fiercely. She knew that any of the changes she’d made, could change everything else, but she did not come all the way to this frozen wasteland of ungrateful fools to have Jon die anyway. She would not let that happen. 

Bran was watching her impassively. 

“Good night,” she finally said, suddenly tired. “Lord Tyrion, drink if you must, but be ready tomorrow to practice. I’ll not have you fall off my dragon and crack your skull.” 

She turned and left the room.

When Daenerys woke the next morning, she dressed and walked to the area where she’d seen the targets lined up for practice. She had a sizable number of arrows now, and Gendry was making more. Once again, she was grateful that Ser Davos had smuggled Gendry out of Kings Landing. The smith was able to create a large number of weapons in a short time. 

She stood before the target, aimed, drew back and loosed an arrow, then another, then another. This was one of the few things she’d learned almost perfectly. Was it from all those years with the Dothraki? The precision of arrows, after aiming a wide storm of fire, that had sharpened the skill? 

She wasn’t sure. But this was her most successful gain in her practicing. 

She finished practicing, and as she gathered her arrows and supplies, she saw Arya Stark walking toward her. 

“Good morning, My Lady,” Dany said warmly. So much of her anger at the North was tied up in their ingratitude. 

This small, beautiful young woman who dressed and fought like a warrior, had saved them all. 

Everyone, everything. 

Dany would treat Arya Stark with only utmost respect, she’d decided, no matter how she treated Dany. 

“I’m not a lady,” Arya responded. “But good morning to you.”

“I apologize,” Dany said. “Of course. Your brother is the King. You would be a princess, not a lady.” 

Arya looked at her in such horror that Dany started to laugh. “All right then. How do you prefer to be addressed?” 

“Just Arya is fine,” she said, and began to loose arrows at the targets as well. 

Flawless, Dany thought, watching. 

Arya noticed Dany staring. “You’re so good, I’m hoping to learn by watching,” Dany explained quickly. 

“You were doing fine with the arrows,” Arya pointed out. “I was watching you. Most of the men here are not such marksmen.”

“I have a lot to learn with swordplay,” she confessed. Arya studied her. 

“I’ll practice with you,” she offered.

Dany’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m likely to try your patience.” 

Arya shrugged. “You’re better than you think you are. But you could improve. Meet me back here this afternoon.” 

“Thank you,” Dany said. She was nervous and hoped it didn’t show. 

“I won’t hurt you,” Arya said, focusing again on her archery. 

Dany went to find Tyrion and was relieved to see him breaking his fast on porridge and bread, and did not appear to be groggy from drinking the night before. 

She took a bowl and filled it with porridge as well, then sat across from Tyrion.

“After we eat we should begin,” she said.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“I’m sure. Each segment of battle needs a good mind to guide, including air. I know of no better mind than yours.” 

“I appreciate the confidence, Your Grace, but-“

“You’re nervous because you’ve never ridden one before. I understand. Once you’ve ridden a bit, we can talk about it again. I don’t want to lose you, so if you don’t feel safe, we’ll devise another plan.”

She would have to find Jon. Whatever state he was in over his parentage would have to be put aside. Rhaegal had been injured in the battle of her vision, and she was hoping that more practice would prevent that. 

“I’m going to find Jon. He should have more practice. He’s only ridden Rhaegal once, I think you should both ride a lot more than that before the battle, and I’m not sure how much time we have. I’ll meet you outside in an hour.”

Had the Night King breached the Wall? 

But she doubted it had happened yet. Bran would have told them.

She found Jon in the crypts, standing before the statue of Lyanna Stark. 

He glanced at Dany, offered a faint smile of greeting. Her stomach clenched and she walked over to him. 

“Who is that?” She asked though she already knew. 

“Lyanna Stark.” 

“My brother Rhaegar...everyone told me he was decent, and kind. He liked to sing. Gave money to poor children. And he raped her.”

“He didn’t,” Jon said. “He loved her.” Jon turned then to face Dany. “They were married in secret. After Rhaegar fell on the Trident, she had a son. Robert would have murdered the baby if he found out, and Lyanna knew it. So the last thing she did, as she bled to death on her birthing bed, was give the boy to her brother. Ned Stark. To raise as his bastard. My name...my real name...is Aegon Targaryen.”

Daenerys studied him. She remembered her rage, her terror that he would steal the throne she’d fought so hard for, for so long. Her only thought had been his claim, the threat to hers.

But he truly had not wanted the throne. He’d stood by her, in that at least, brought his armies to fight for her. Had refused Varys’s offer.

Of course he’d also murdered her, but that had been after she’d burned the city. 

And now she’d had moons to think about this information. He’d only just found out.

How selfish I was! She realized. He’d told her first, before he’d told anyone else.

And how must he be feeling, his entire life and identity a lie?

“Who told you this?” She asked him, gently.

“Bran. He saw it.”

“He saw it?” 

“And Samwell confirmed it. He read about their marriage at the Citadel without even knowing what it meant.” 

She’d railed on him in her vision. Pointed out his claim to the throne.

She was angry at him for all he’d done in her vision that had hurt her, harmed her, betrayed her, let her down. 

But in this, she had let him down. Had refused to support him and came at him like an enemy. Hadn’t that been what had hurt her so much in the North? Being treated like an enemy.

“Are you all right?” She asked, laying her hand on his arm. He looked at her hand on his arm, then back at her face. “This is an enormous blow,” she went on when he didn’t answer her. “I wish they’d told you after the battle. I know it’s impossible, but try your best not to let it distract you from our preparations. If you need to talk about this, I’m here for you. Have you told anyone else?”

“No. I wanted to tell you first”.

“We can talk about it whenever you like. But Tyrion and I are going to practice riding today and I’d like you to join us.”

He hesitated. “This means that we-“

“We can talk about what it means after we’ve defeated the Night King,” she said firmly. “Right now I’m only concerned about beating him, and how you must be feeling after such a revelation...are you up to joining us?”

“Yes,” he assured her. 

She reached for his hand. “I can only imagine what a shock this must be to you,” she said softly, “If they’d told you after the Great War you’d have had more time to think about it. Please remember I’m here for you.”

It was the best she could manage. She didn’t feel the same anger as before but she felt the same trepidation. This was still a danger to her claim. If the wrong people found out about it, it would be a danger to her very life.

She tried to follow the advice she’d given Jon, and put it out of her mind for now. 

People were running through the courtyard, calling to each other. 

The Night King had found a fissure somewhere in the Wall, where the fortifications had been protected and rebuilt as necessary, but not the magic. 

He’d crossed the Wall.

Tyrion was walking to meet Daenerys and Jon, his heart pounding in excitement. He was afraid, but that paled beside his anticipation.   
Daenerys wanted him to ride Viserion into battle with her. She wanted him to practice. He’d wanted to ride a dragon for as long as he could remember, and it was about to happen. He could not help also feeling a pang of guilt now, when he remembered his reaction to her wanting him to approach Viserion. He’d assumed she might punish him for writing to his brother, but she’d wanted him to get close enough to her dragon to ride him. He’d hurt her, and he couldn’t shake the remorse.   
Even that was a ghost of feeling in the face of his elation, and, he admitted to himself, terror. 

What if he fell? 

He saw Daenerys walking with Jon, and smiled in greeting at them. 

She walked ahead of them to her dragons, talking to them as she always did, in Valyrian, as if telling them her plans. She stroked them lovingly, and they nuzzled her, pushing at her in affection with their giant snouts, and she giggled. 

She turned to Tyrion and Jon, her face flushed and smiling. 

“Come on,” she urged. 

She guided Tyrion on walking carefully up   
Viserion’s wing, and advised him to hold onto the spines.

“That’s more guidance than she gave me,” Jon quipped.

He could see Daenerys and Jon climbing onto Drogon and Rhaegal, and they all took off together. Tyrion watched the land below growing further away, as Viserion took to the sky. He was warm, the heat and power of him unmistakable, and it filled Tyrion with awe. The ground was so far below now, and he was clinging to the spines along Viserion’s back. He could see that Daenerys had been correct, Viserion was gentle. Rhaegal was flying close to trees and seemed to delight in Jon’s nervousness, whereas Viserion was careful, and Tyrion wondered if he knew he was afraid.   
His heart was pounding and he knew this was one of the times in his life that was etched in him forever. 

When they finally landed, he climbed down carefully, the exhilaration still flushed through him. 

Daenerys stood waiting for him and Jon. 

“You did very well,” she told them, beaming at them and at her children. “We don’t have as much time now that the Night King has breached the Wall, but I’d like to do this again as much as possible before the battle. Lord Tyrion, now you’ve ridden a dragon, can you agree to my plan?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said, suffused with gratitude and wonder.

“Good. As you build your confidence, I’ll need you to devise some form of communication between the three of us.”

“I thought you had an idea for that,” he said. 

“I don’t.”  
“I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“Then you’d best get to work,” she advised him, smiling. 

She rested her hand on Jon’s shoulder. “You’re all right?” 

“I am,” he said, smiling slightly. 

She nodded at them, and walked back to Winterfell. 

Tyrion turned to Jon, and they followed behind her. “That was amazing,” he said, still humbled and elated.

Jon nodded. “Aye,” he said. His voice was low and he looked lost in his own thoughts. Tyrion knew Jon was preoccupied with the looming war with the dead, so he didn’t speak further.

Daenerys approached the training ground feeling as nervous as Tyrion must have felt mounting Viserion. Arya was already there waiting for her. Dany knew Arya wouldn’t intentionally hurt her. But practicing with better swordsmen than Dany could ever hope to be, might make Arya less than careful. It also would do little to support Dany’s facade of strength to be thoroughly trounced in front of these people. 

But that didn’t matter, she thought. All that mattered was getting better, and it had been tremendously kind of Arya to even offer.

Arya was more patient than she’d expected, and indeed having watched Dany with Ser Jorah, she had a pretty good idea of where Dany needed the most work. 

Dany was exhausted after the practice, but Arya’s guidance, and the words she’d spoken to her, had given her one of the best practice fights she’d ever engaged, and the exhaustion was the kind she liked, the kind that strained her arms and belly and legs in a way she knew by now meant they would be stronger for it.

She sat down to catch her breath, and Arya sat beside her.

“Those were good ideas you suggested last night at the war council,” Arya said.

“I had the benefit of many books that explained past strategy”, Dany responded.

“So did most of the people there, and they didn’t say anything.” 

Dany was silent for a moment. She liked Arya, quite a lot. But she couldn’t be sure this wasn’t a trap to have Dany criticize the Northmen.

“I heard you talking to Bran,” Arya went on. “About Jon.”

Dany stiffened slightly. Jon would likely tell Arya soon enough, and it hadn’t been Arya to betray them. But it wasn’t Dany’s secret to tell. Even if it was, would Arya tell Sansa?

“I’m not asking you to tell me what you were talking about. Whatever it is Bran told Jon,” Arya said, noting Dany’s stiffening that she’d thought was imperceptible. 

Dany turned to Arya. Those eyes looked directly into hers. Was she a Greenseer too? Or was her perception sharpened by experience? 

“Bran said that he’d told Jon this thing because he might die in the battle,” Arya said. 

Dany shuddered. “He will not die,” She said firmly. “I will not let that happen.”

Arya smiled. “That’s what you said last night. Wherever we disagree, we stand united in that.”

Dany nodded. They sat in a brief silence, then Arya continued.

“Sansa told me you gave her your word you wouldn’t try to take the North.” 

“I did. I see no reason to try. It’s the Red Keep my family built. It’s the other six kingdoms under Cersei’s tyranny. The North chose its own ruler, and chose well. I know of no man braver or more honorable than your brother. When I departed Meereen, I left instructions for the people there to choose their own leaders. To be free. Freedom means making your own choice.”

“And what if all the kingdoms start asking for independence?”

The others are free to ask as well, she’d told Tyrion. 

“So long as they choose wise rulers who will not harm the people they serve, I can see no true reason to deny them that”. 

I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms, she had said to Jon in that other life. She had believed it to be her destiny. But her vision had shown her a destiny full of horror. She felt the heavy sadness in her heart again as she remembered the terrified screams that had turned into agonized wails as she had burnt the city that had surrendered to her. The horrible silence after.

“I don’t want to be like my father,” she said, her voice small. “I know my family has done terrible things...” she broke off. And they all thought her brother had kidnapped Lyanna Stark. How they must hate her here in the North.

“When I was a little girl,” Arya said, “my heroine was Visenya Targaryen. She founded the Kingsguard. She was a great warrior. She told her brother that his guards were not enough. He didn’t believe her, so she drew her sword and cut his face before the guards could react, and she told him they were slow and lazy. And that’s how he agreed to her creating the Kingsguard.”

Dany turned to her, surprised “I don’t often hear stories about my family that aren’t monstrous. Thank you”.

Arya nodded and one of the men called out to her that it was her turn again to practice in the training circle. 

“We can do it again tomorrow if you like. The Night King will be here soon”.

Dany nodded. “Thank you. Thank you so much for everything.” 

The next few days were a blur of activity. Daenerys was pleased to see that the men had fully followed her counsel, digging many ditches in the areas she’d recommended, and they’d added further barricades well. 

She’d spent her days riding with Tyrion and Jon, archery in the mornings and swordplay with Arya and Ser Jorah, fighting with Grey Worm and riding with the Dothraki.

She saw Jon doing much of the same. Trying not to allow the revelation of his lineage to distract him from his duty. 

She avoided going to him. She remembered being rejected by him in her vision and she didn’t want either of them to have anything more to grapple with than they already had. 

But she wondered one night after they’d eaten, and people were setting about their night duties, if she should try to speak with him. If he hadn’t told anyone else, he might need to talk about it.

He has his best friend and his brother, she reminded herself. 

But she decided to try to find him. If he was hurting it might distract him. 

She found him back in the crypts. She approached him, putting her arm around his. He didn’t return the embrace but he didn’t push her off, either. 

Dany wasn’t sure what to say to him. She’d vowed to herself to avoid the topic of his claim and hers until after the battle. 

“Its a comfort, I imagine, to know she loved you.”

Jon looked at her sharply. “She died because of me,” he said. 

“My mother died in childbirth as well,” she said softly. “As did Tyrion’s. You can’t hold yourself at fault for that.” Jon returned his gaze to the statue.

“I always wanted to know about her. To know what my mother was like. Who she was. If she cared about me.” 

“And now you know she loved you,” Dany repeated. “More than anything. So much so that protecting you was the last and most important thing on her mind and in her heart.”

“I don’t know anything about my...my father, either,” he said dismally. “Ned Stark was my father.”

She could feel his pain, and she held his arm tightly. “Ser Barristan Selmy told me that Rhaegar hated fighting. He was good at it, but he didn’t enjoy it. He liked to go out among the people and sing. Ser Barristan would collect money people would give him. He would give the money to orphanages or to the poor. But one night they went out and got drunk on it.”

Jon laughed. “The Maester at Castle Black was Aemon Targaryen. I didn’t know he was my great-great uncle. I loved him. He would get letters about you.”

“About me?”

“He was blind, so he had Sam read them to him. He loved you. Sam told me that you stayed in Meereen to ensure that the freed slaves would not be enslaved again. Maester Aemon said you were alone, with no family to guide you or protect you. He said a Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing.”

She hurt at those words. Terrible indeed.

“Neither of us is alone,” she said softly. “You have your mother’s family still. And we have each other.” 

He was silent, but she could see he was digesting her words. 

“I just wish-“ Jon began, and then the horn sounded. They looked at each other, and rushed out to the tower. 

The dead had come.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again, I thank you all so much for the kudos and comments, you have all inspired me so much.  
So finally I’m posting the battle.  
I was hesitating because I’ve literally never written a battle before. I’m afraid of course that this will just not be good, but I figured I might as well post it, it’s not like I can skip it. Kind of crucial to the story.  
The whole thing is from Dany’s POV because a) most of the story is anyway and b) I’m so unsure about a battle scene in general and other POVs were a little out of my range.  
I left the battle scene as a separate stand alone chapter in case I have to make edits.  
Feedback and constructive criticism as always are deeply appreciated. :-)  
I hope you all enjoy the chapter!

Chapter Six

Daenerys could barely breathe. She’d rushed to grab her sword, her bow and arrows. She had worn her thick fur coat for the battle in her vision, but it had not been practical, and so she’d chosen instead a leather tunic, pants and gambeson with her ring mail. Her dragons had been armored that morning in preparation.  
She took a moment to say a few words to her men, to give them last minute advice, to rouse them, to support them. She saw Ser Jorah and threw her arms around him. In her vision, this had been her last opportunity to do so. “Please be careful,” she whispered.  
“You too, Khaleesi. Please.”  
She nodded. “I will.”  
She met again with Jon and Tyrion, and could see her own tension and fear reflected on their faces.  
They looked gravely at each other.  
“Dragonfire will not kill the Night King,” she reminded Jon. She knew he would be flying close to Bran for much of the battle. “It may serve as a distraction to burn him, but that’s it. You might be able to burn wights approaching Bran, but you’d burn the whole area as well, and Bran too if you’re not careful.”  
He nodded.  
“Please, both of you,” Tyrion said, “don’t do anything stupid. Well...anything unnecessarily stupid.”  
They had lit torches further out from the castle, but Dany knew that the wights, and the cold that the Night King brought with him, would blow those out.  
There were far more trenches now, and their men were positioned behind them, rather than in front of them.  
The first trench, furthest from the castle, had been filled with oil to be lit, and dragonglass as well. Dany remembered how the dead had begun throwing themselves into the burning trench so that other wights could cross their bodies like a bridge.  
The dragonglass had been set in the trench as spikes, so they might serve to kill more of them. They wouldn’t all die this way, but many might impale themselves on the dragonglass trying to climb the bridge of corpses.  
She had told Jon and Tyrion she would light that first trench, and they had immediately objected. She could understand their objection, even appreciated their underlying concern, but she’d ridden Drogon longer than both of them had been dragon riding, and Drogon was more attuned to her than Rhaegal or Viserion would be to Jon or Tyrion.  
Jon needed to stay close to where Bran was, and she didn’t want to risk losing Tyrion, he had to stay close to provide guidance.  
Once the trench would be lit, and then start to dim, as the dead breached it, the trebuchets would begin hurling lit volleys at the approaching wights.  
The trebuchets had not been left exposed, as they had in her vision, but were readied on top of the fortifications. She remembered in her vision, how they’d sent arcs of fire, above her Dothraki and their flaming arakhs, and it had looked so beautiful. A beautiful suicide, she thought bitterly.  
She knew the most they could do was buy time, to kill as many wights and keep as many living soldiers alive as possible until the Night King exposed himself.  
Another unmanned barricade had been placed far out from the walls, but closer to the castle than the first trench. It had been hastily thrown together, just to slow the wights down and cut their numbers.  
A small band of Dothraki, about four thousand, had been stationed there, at the sides, to pick the wights off as they made their way through, then as the dead numbers increased, the Dothraki were to fall back, and then charge again if possible until they must retreat to the castle.  
Over that barricade, the men at the walls would use the ranged weapons and Dany, Jon and Tyrion would blow down fire.  
As she had requested, multiple trenches had been dug and further barricades built, closer to the castle, to try to funnel the dead and force their approach in smaller numbers to make killing them more manageable.  
She’d asked Gendry and the other smiths to make thousands of arrows with dragonglass for herself, her Dothraki, and the archers on the wall. Arrows used only small amounts of dragonglass but would be effective from further away, without direct engagement.  
Closer to the castle, they’d built manned fortifications, chevrons built of wood and dragonglass to funnel the dead as much as possible. These were not manned heavily but had flanks on either side, to sling arrows as the dead funneled through them. They’d been built hastily, and wouldn’t last, but would slow the wights down for a time, and force them to approach in smaller numbers, at least for a time.  
There were several more trenches and barricades set apart to funnel the dead’s approach as much as possible and create kill zones.  
Finally, the same trench of oil and dragonglass had been dug closest to the castle, but this would be in front of the majority of soldiers, not behind them.  
The walls were manned with archers and they had pitch ready to pour over the walls.  
They would never truly be ready, and Dany had quickly seen that Jon had been correct that the Northerners would never leave the North, no matter how much more advantageous it would have been to defend a castle with natural barriers, no matter how much time it would buy them.  
Dany flew out into the darkness to reach that first trench, to light it up before the torches went out and she wouldn’t be able to see it. Her heart was hammering. The terror pounding at her chest made her feel almost giddy. This run had been made by her Dothraki, by Ser Jorah, by Ghost in her vision. She had watched the fires of their blazing arakhs go out, leaving only darkness, as she’d stood helplessly at the wall. She remembered the fear on the faces of the people below, their horror had been palpable, but she herself had been consumed with rage that hadn’t left room for fear, as she watched her Dothraki disappear into the night.  
Now, alone, she was terrified.  
She flew over the trench, and Drogon blew down a pillar of fire, igniting it. She knew the storm would begin, and braced herself against it, urging Drogon to blow fire over the wights.  
She flew back, unwilling to take a chance that the Night King or his Walkers would hurl an ice spear at her and Drogon.  
She was confident that neither Tyrion nor Jon would attempt to fly after her. Jon would stay close to Bran and Tyrion had far too much self preservation.  
She watched as the wights made their way through the trenches and barricades, relieved that at least their numbers would be reduced much more significantly, though not nearly enough. Not enough to stop thousands of their own from dying.  
She could barely see in front of her, but as the wights moved closer, she continued to rain down massive swaths of fire, and she saw the burning volleys from the trebuchets, then as they grew closer still, she could see her first band of Dothraki archers sling arrows at them. The archers on the wall began to loose arrows as well. And then the wights were approaching the final barricades and she saw Tyrion and Jon join her in raining down fire.  
She saw a few wights of a terrifying size.  
Were they giants? She focused a storm of flames over them. She remembered hearing later of giant wights in her vision. Best to not let them into Winterfell’s walls.  
As the final trench was lit, the wights stood before it as they had in her vision, and Dany signaled to Jon and Tyrion that they should focus all their fire on them as they stood still.  
Where the hell had she been in her vision?  
Fighting the storm, if she was remembering correctly. It had been a waste of opportunity, as the massive dead army had stood still and helpless before the fire.  
Again, she felt a gratitude for the vision. Having lived this battle before made it clearer what to do and when. Still, she knew it wouldn’t be enough. Thousands would die, even with the best of preparations.  
Dany, Jon and Tyrion flew over the wall of dead soldiers, laying wide swaths of flames over them. She angled her flight so that the fire would fall more widely over the dead. Once they began to drop into the lit trench, she knew they would breach the walls.  
She could barely make out Ser Davos and Lord Tarly. Tarly was yelling something down at Grey Worm, and she watched as the Unsullied changed the direction of their charge; from above, she realized, Tarly could see the attack of wights about to hit them from that side, a charge that had taken almost a thousand of her men in her vision.  
She knew that Tarly was an enemy. But he’d kept his word and she had to stop herself from becoming distracted by the gratitude that shot through her.  
The wights had begun to breach the walls, and she saw the men pouring pitch onto them.  
She could see Jon and Tyrion blowing down fire onto the field, and she flew Drogon over the courtyard. They were swarmed, she realized in horror.  
She took a deep breath and remembered her practice, and stood on Drogon’s back, pressing her feet against his spines for a surer stance, and began to loose arrows into the wights below.  
She could see Dickon Tarly surrounded by them; she was not going to let them tear him apart after his father had saved so many of her Unsullied, after his brother had saved Ser Jorah. She loosed arrow after arrow, and was glad she’d practiced, her arms would have ached from the effort a moon ago. Faster, she told herself.  
She could see Arya, swinging some kind of two sided spear, and was again floored by the sheer excellence of her movements. Arya certainly didn’t need any help. She was a force unto herself.  
Focus, she reminded herself, and continued to loose arrows. Once the dead in the courtyard seemed to have thinned to a degree that the men and women below could fight them, she flew back out over the field to blow down fire on the wights still approaching.  
This battle was now at the point where all she could do was fly over the field to burn as many approaching wights as she could, then back over the courtyard, the ramparts, anywhere exposed where she could see fighting, and provide support from above with her arrows.  
Jon and Tyrion were also raining down storms of fire, and Jon kept sweeping over where Bran waited, to make sure he was alive and as yet unhurt.  
She felt the nagging fear that the changes she made might have consequences she had not considered. The Night King did not have Viserion, which she knew was only for the good of the battle, but what if there was some flaw in her calculations? If Jon died because of some mistake of hers, she would never forgive herself.  
She could see him on Rhaegal still, and he was fighting the winds, the blisteringly cold torrent of snow.  
She could see the Night King. She wasn’t going to waste time they didn’t have trying to burn him, and she knew there was no way she had the skill or strength to fight him.  
To her horror, a terrible wind blew Rhaegal suddenly sideways and Jon plunged to the ground below. She watched him and almost weakened with relief when he stood, unhurt. The Night King and Jon looked at each other. As Jon started toward him, the Night King raised his hands and the dead began to rise.  
He’s afraid of Jon, she realized suddenly. He wouldn’t fight him because he was terrified of him. She remembered this night in her vision, how the Night King had aimed Viserion’s entire focus on Jon.  
Dany had never in any war feared an enemy so much that she would dedicate a dragon’s full power at only that one enemy in the midst of a battle...except, of course, the Night King himself.  
She thought with grim satisfaction that the Night King was not planning on Jon’s sister Arya.  
As Jon tried to fight the massive dead army around him, the Night King walked on in search of Bran.  
She blew down fire over the wights surrounding Jon, but she did not land Drogon on the ground. This mistake in her vision had caused Drogon to be mounted by the dead, and in shaking them off, he’d shaken her off as well. It had cost Ser Jorah his life.  
Jon looked up at her. Called, “Bran!”  
“Go!” She called back and Rhaegal followed him to offer support.  
She swept back over the exposed areas of Winterfell, shooting arrows, then flew back onto the field. The Night King had some of his Walkers with him and she could see a few more Walkers out in the field.  
Viserion was flying over them, and she narrowed her eyes, flying closer to make certain Tyrion was still atop him.  
He was, she saw, and as she approached, he glanced at her. He was cutting off the band of dead who she assumed belonged to the Walker below. Tyrion was flying Viserion in a circular manner, effectively flanking the squadron with fire, and she wanted to tell him she was proud, so proud how quickly he’d learned, how keen his mind in dire circumstances.  
Then, she saw the Walker take his spear from his side, aiming.  
No, she thought fiercely. You will not take my child, you will not take my Hand.  
She pressed closer. Tyrion was maneuvering to avoid the spear, but the first one missed by only a fraction. The Walker had a second spear in his hand, and Dany blew down fire over him.  
She was seized now with fear, cold panic. She knew the fire wouldn’t hurt him, it would only be a distraction and then he’d be ready to throw another spear. And if it hit Viserion, she would lose him. Tyrion would land in the sea of dead beneath them and be torn to shreds.  
She continued burning the Walker, and knew that as the flames cleared he would be smirking up at her. She remembered the Night King’s smug smile and was suddenly consumed with uncontrollable rage.  
You will not take them, she vowed, and stood on Drogon’s back. She glanced at Tyrion, who was signaling at her to get away, but she was too angry now, too afraid.  
She jumped from Drogon’s back into the flames below, and in the light of the fire consuming herself and the Walker, she could see him still looking up at Drogon. She could not waste time. She did not have anywhere near the skill to fight him, she needed the element of surprise. She pulled Lady Forlorn from it’s sheath and plunged it into him. He shattered around her, and she ran back out of the flames into the heap of unmoving wights that had been his squadron. No doubt she would be besieged by another squadron if she didn’t hurry, and then Ser Jorah would rush to his death protecting her.  
Drogon was circling above her, and Viserion was not far off. She could see Tyrion staring at her from above. She knew he would be angry at her, she had severely deviated from their plan.  
Drogon landed beside her, and she dashed up his wing and urged him to take off right away.  
She followed Tyrion’s cues as they rode over the sea of dead below them, but broke away a few times to look upon where Jorah was, where Jon was. Jorah was looking at her as well, and she realized that despite the carnage around him, he’d kept looking up to see where she was. That was how he’d known in her vision that she’d fallen from Drogon. That was how he’d known to rush to her side.  
Because he knew where she was every moment.  
The battle had reached the stage where all they could do was fight and fight until there was nothing left, and then die.  
She had some satisfaction that they’d reached that point far later in the battle this time, but she cursed herself for forgetting in her rage and terror to remove her bow and quiver of arrows before jumping into the flames.  
They were ashes now, she couldn’t help the overwhelmed living soldiers in the courtyard. The leather she’d worn was in tatters, the ring mail freezing in the storm of ice and snow and wind, against too much exposed skin. Her belt had been thicker than her clothes, as was her sheath, so Lady Forlorn still sat at her waist, but she knew it would be a dangerous chance to take, to dive down and join the fighting. She blew down fire and hoped and hoped and hoped.  
Then, suddenly, the wights began to drop, lifeless. The Walkers in the field shattered.  
An unearthly calm fell over her as she realized that Arya had killed the Night King. Ser Jorah was alive.  
The Night was over.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all who left me such kind comments on my last chapter. I was really nervous about it!   
This is the post battle stuff, the celebration after, Dany’s conversation with Jon which goes quite differently because she knows he’s going to tell his sisters no matter how desperately she pleads with him. She then gets pretty drunk so that was fun to write.

Chapter Seven

Daenerys had urged Drogon to land, sliding off his back and walking through the carnage.  
It was still dark, those last few moments before the dawn when the night is darkest.   
And coldest, Dany thought, wrapping her arms around herself. She didn’t remember it being quite this cold in her vision. But then, she’d been sweating from the exertion of fighting wights with Jorah. She’d been stricken with grief at losing him. She’d worn her fur coat that night, but tonight she hadn’t, preferring the protection and mobility of leather and ring mail.   
The leather had held up better in the fire than the gauzy dresses she’d worn in flames before, but much of it had still burned away, and what was left of it had been stiffened and tattered. Her ringmail remained barely touched, though in sections the fire had melted the intricate rings and it laid as flat metal against her skin. Metal growing colder by the second, she thought ruefully. People around her looked dazed, though a few of them stared at her as she passed. She imagined she must look a sight, wearing only half melted ringmail and tattered leather, covered in soot, her sword still at her hip but barely, as the belt and sheath had also taken a beating in the fire.  
She saw Jorah then, and suddenly she didn’t care if they stared; she ran to him, gripping him tightly. His arms wrapped around her and she leaned into him. He felt warm against her.   
“You’re freezing, Khaleesi,” he told her. She was shivering. He had no coat or cape to wrap her in, and he lifted her into his arms, holding her tightly.   
“I can walk,” she insisted. But the comfort of his arms was undeniable and the bitter, biting wind seemed to have settled inside her. She was trembling violently, she had to strain to keep her teeth from chattering.   
“I’ve got you,” he said, holding her closer.   
“I don’t want to appear weak to them,” she said, and if she’d felt stronger she’d have laughed at herself. Her voice barely had the strength of a newborn kitten. “They’re staring at me. They think I’m weak already,” she whispered.   
Indeed she could see their eyes following them as they entered the courtyard.   
“I wish you could have seen yourself in that battle, Khaleesi,” Jorah murmured into her hair. “There’s not a man here who thinks you’re weak.”  
She was too cold and too tired to press the issue. She definitely hadn’t been this tired in her vision. Or maybe she had and didn’t notice because she’d been heartsick.   
They entered Winterfell’s great hall, and everywhere people were milling about. But where was Jon? Missandei? Grey Worm? Tyrion?  
She felt a knot of fear despite herself. Why should they be harmed? They hadn’t been the last time.   
But it had gone differently, what if-   
“Khaleesi,” Jorah’s voice was sharp above her head. “Stay with me.”  
“I’m all right,” she said softly.  
They passed the opening to the crypts. She saw a few men standing around.   
“...get this cleaned up before the Starks see them like this,” one of them was saying. He stopped as they passed, looking straight at Dany. “You were right about the crypts,” he told her grimly.  
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.   
She rested her head again on Jorah’s shoulder.  
She truly just wanted to sleep.   
She could hear voices swirling around her.   
“What’s the matter with her?” Randyll Tarly’s voice cut into her reverie.  
“She’s freezing,” Jorah responded.   
She felt Tarly’s fingers brush her bare arm.  
“Well, go get her warmed up,” he said brusquely.  
“Khaleesi, you have to stay with me.”  
“I’m fine,” she insisted, wishing there was more fire in her voice. “Everyone is cold and tired”.  
“Not everyone decided to burn most of their clothes off,” Jorah pointed out to her, “leaving only freezing metal to cover them.”  
“I had to,” she said, already tired of an argument she figured she’d end up having repeatedly. “The Walker would have taken Viserion. And killed Tyrion while he was at it”.   
Jorah didn’t argue, he carried her to her room where Missandei was waiting for her.  
Just as in her vision, Dany felt weak with relief when she saw her.   
“Are you all right?” Missandei asked her.  
“I’m fine, just cold and tired, like everyone else. Are you all right?”   
“I am,” Missandei said, pulling back the blankets on the bed. The room was warm even without the fire lit. This was one of the things she loved about Winterfell, how warm it was inside despite the cold outside. Still, the chill had settled inside her and she shivered.  
Jorah laid her on the bed and started to take the frozen ringmail off her, then the shreds of leather that had stiffened from the searing heat and freezing cold.  
Missandei sat beside her, rubbing her hands.   
“Your lips are blue,” she observed, and the concern in her voice made Dany want to weep.  
“Is Grey Worm safe?” Dany asked Missandei, who smiled broadly then, the pride and relief evident on her face.  
“He is.”   
A knock sounded at the door, and then a group of young women entered, two of them dragging a tub, the others carrying large pots of water.   
“Lord Tarly sent us here, he said Her Grace would want to get warm.”  
Dany felt a twinge of suspicion, but a hot bath did sound delicious and surely if Tarly intended to assassinate her he would not have had the assassins announce that he had sent them. Still...  
“This is incredibly kind of you,” she told them, “but there are people hurt and dying all over outside. I’m fine, I’m just cold. I’m not going to die from cold.”   
One of the ladies, the youngest, turned to her sharply. “You can die from cold,” she said earnestly. “People have. And you’re not accustomed to it, Your Grace. It could be particularly dangerous for you.”   
Once the tub was filled with warm water, Jorah and Missandei assisted her to it, over her objections that she could walk, and she was glad of it when she realized how wobbly her legs were.   
In all her training she hadn’t thought to try to inure herself to the freezing temperatures of the North and she was annoyed at herself.   
The women delicately pushed her head back and poured some of the water over the back of her head.  
“It’s important to get your head warm first,” the young girl explained. This was the kindest she’d ever been treated by people of the North and she found herself fighting back tears.  
Grey Worm entered the room, saw her in the bath, and immediately turned his back on her, facing the wall. “Are you well, my Queen?” He asked.  
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “And you?”  
“Fine,” Grey Worm responded.   
“You did very well. I saw you protecting the retreat. I saw you all fighting. I am so proud of you.”   
“Thank you, Your Grace.”  
“Why don’t we get a fire started,” suggested Jorah and they set to work.   
Missandei had sat on a chair beside Dany, and the Northern women stepped back.   
“We’re going to go, but I’ll be back in a few minutes to bring hot broth.”   
“Thank you so much,” Dany said to them, and watched them leave gratefully. “I’m surprised,” she said. “They were so kind.”  
“Most of them would have died in the crypts,” Missandei noted. “When the battle ended and we all came out, we found out that it was exactly as you said.”  
Another knock sounded at the door and Dany started to laugh. Her entire Khalasar had seen her step naked from the flames of the temple. She was glad she wasn’t burdened with much modesty, she mused, if her room was to be crowded.   
Tyrion entered the room and again she felt relief wash over her. She had believed but couldn’t be sure he’d survived. He saw her in the bath and like Grey Worm had, he immediately turned away. “I’m glad to see you’re all right, Your Grace,” he told the wall in front of him.   
“Likewise, Lord Tyrion. You may as well come in and sit down.” He obeyed, taking a seat close to her bath, but kept his eyes deliberately trained in front of him and away from her. “You were amazing out there,” she told him.”  
He smiled. “Thank you for giving me the chance to fly on Viserion,” he said, his voice soft.   
“I knew you could do it, but you were even better than I imagined. Is Jon all right?”  
“He looked all right,” Tyrion assured her. “A little sad and pale, but that’s his way in the best of times. He was worried about you.”  
“Ser Jorah carried me in here. So much for trying to appear strong in front of the Northmen.”  
Tyrion did not move his eyes from the wall ahead. “I think you appeared more than strong,” he said.  
“I had to be carried,” she muttered. “Like a newborn babe. And now look, all those people out there still trying to clear away the disaster outside. And I’m in here warming up. As if everyone else isn’t just as cold.”   
“Everyone else didn’t-“  
“I look pathetic to them,” she said sadly, cutting him off to stop the lecture she suspected was coming.  
Tyrion’s eyes shot to her face then.  
“Pathetic? Your Grace, I don’t think you realize the spectacle you made of yourself out there.”  
“I’m very well aware of the spectacle,” she said. “Being carried back like a child. They were staring at me.”  
“You think that’s why they were staring? You burned thousands of wights”.  
“As did you and Jon and you both walked back on your own feet instead of becoming a shivering little-“   
“You flew over the courtyard and stood on your dragon raining down arrows-“  
“I told you that practice was a good idea”, she couldn’t resist pointing out with a slight smile.  
“You saved dozens of men, maybe hundreds in the courtyard. You saved Dickon Tarly.”   
And I would have burned him, she thought. She reached suddenly for Tyrion’s hand, squeezing it.  
“You’re a good advisor, Lord Tyrion. Thank you.”   
Tyrion flushed deeply and turned his gaze back to the wall, but continued to hold her hand.  
“You jumped off your dragon into the fire,” he said, and Dany sighed. She’d known that was coming.  
“I know I deviated from the plan-“  
“I distinctly remember telling you not to do anything stupid.”  
“That Walker was aiming his spear at you. He almost hit Viserion.”  
“I saw. I was trying to maneuver-“  
“I was afraid he’d kill you both. You and Viserion. I couldn’t just let it happen again.”  
“Again?”  
She waved that off. “I didn’t know what else to do. I panicked.”  
“I did too, when I saw you jump into the fire,” Tyrion said quietly.   
“You knew I’d gone into fire before.”  
“Seeing it is something else.” Dany was silent at that. She knew that was true. Hadn’t she known when she’d stepped from the flames at Vaes Dothrak, what the effect would be? “Before this,” Tyrion continued, “most of the people here were probably assuming ‘The Unburnt’ was a figure of speech. They are likely thinking of a lot of words to describe you, Your Grace, but ‘pathetic’ is not one of them.”  
The bath had warmed Dany considerably, and she felt much more like herself now. She started to stand, and Missandei assisted her, and handed her a dressing gown once she’d settled on the bed.   
“I’m going to go and help,” she said.   
Another knock sounded at the door, and one of the women who’d helped with the bath entered, holding the bowl of broth she’d promised.   
“Thank you so much,” Dany said, smiling at her.   
“Of course, Your Grace. I’m glad to see you have your color back.” She curtsied and left the room.   
“Do any of you want some?” She offered. They declined and she began drinking down the broth, hungrier than she’d realized.  
She finished the broth quickly, and then dressed to go to the infirmary.  
When she got there, she folded up her sleeves, and began to help the women and the overwhelmed maester to tend to the people who’d been injured. She’d learned very little on the subject of medicine, but her loss years ago of Drogo had taught her a vigilance regarding infection, and she could clean and sew a wound, offer milk of the poppy. She saw they were running frightfully low on supplies. She sighed. She knew these stubborn Northerners would prefer pain to accepting anything from her. She asked a few of her uninjured Unsullied to slip in unnoticed with the crates that held the supplies she’d brought, and approached Maester Wolkan, hoping he would be reasonable.   
“Maester Wolkan, may I have a word with you? Quickly, I promise. I see how it is here, I won’t keep you.”  
He turned exhausted eyes on her. “Yes, Your Grace.”  
“I’ve brought supplies. I know the men and women here don’t wish to use any provisions I’ve brought, but I can see your supplies are low. They’re in those boxes, I haven’t done anything to them. If you could just say they were here already?”  
The Maester studied her. “I don’t think anyone here would object to using them-“  
“I’d prefer not to risk it. They’re in pain, I can see that. I have more than enough here, for my men and yours. I don’t wish to see anyone hurt further out of stubbornness.”   
He gave a small, weak laugh. “Thank you, Your Grace.”  
She nodded and went back to working with the other women until the time came to put their dead to rest.   
She was grateful for the vision that allowed Ser Jorah to stand beside her for the funereal rites, and while it was good to see much fewer losses, those they’d had still hurt her. Her men had followed her, trusted her. She found that she was so tired and sickened by war, she wondered if it was even worth the throne at this point. She looked at the vast pyre, listening to Jon speak over the dead.  
Theon Greyjoy had died. There hadn’t been anything she could do to prevent that. He wanted to stand by Bran until the bitter end. She couldn’t save him, and it hurt her.  
She saw little Lady Mormont, alive even if bruised and bloodied. Hadn’t she died in Dany’s vision? Fighting a giant, Dany remembered. The giant Dany had burned before he could storm Winterfell.   
Some of the Southern Lords and their men had died. Though they were still her enemies, she hurt for them as well. She’d brought them here to die. Most had survived, and that gave her some peace. She knew she herself had saved more than a few with her arrows, and she was relieved for that.   
The Tarlys stood together, looking grim.   
Everyone looked grim.   
She lit the pyre as did each person who’d been handed a torch. 

Daenerys dreaded the coming celebration. She knew she couldn’t sit it out, and she wished that she could. She had been sure she was ready for it, ready to face anew the hatred these people had for her. But today she was tired, so tired. She’d realized she couldn’t give up the war for the throne, even if she wanted to.   
There were too many others involved. The Dornish and Tyrell armies were still holding Kings Landing under siege, the Greyjoy fleet still holding the harbor, Lady Olenna had already lost her home.   
As she had told Jon, she had promises to keep.  
And then, she wanted it, she’d worked for it for so long. But as the time grew closer to claiming it, the fear was settling like a sickness in her.  
She reminded herself that Ser Jorah was alive. Missandei. Her dragons. The Tyrells.   
On this night in her vision, Ser Jorah had been dead. Her armies halved. She’d already begun the slip into being lost.  
She should be happy. The unrelenting hate and rejection of these Northerners should have ceased to trouble her.   
She was slowly starting to rebuild her faith in herself, that once unwavering faith that had sustained her. The faith that the vision had shattered.  
Missandei reminded her that she would stay with her this time, but Dany insisted she should enjoy her night with Grey Worm.   
She told Ser Jorah the same when he declared that he would stand at her side.   
“Why should you have to do that? You have wanted to go home since I met you. Remember? I asked you what you dream about, and you said ‘Home’. You have earned your pardon, you’ve proven yourself in this battle. Your men, your home, will want to celebrate you. You should enjoy it. You deserve it.”   
Jorah studied her. “And what of you, Khaleesi? You’ve earned their respect a thousandfold and if they can’t give it to you-“  
“I knew they couldn’t before I came here. I’ll return to Dragonstone within a fortnight. If you will still join me-“  
“Of course I’ll still join you.”  
“Then you’ll be leaving them again. I want you to enjoy the homecoming you’ve wanted”.  
“You deserve to enjoy the celebration too,” he said, and there was anger in his voice, hurt for her. “Who brought us this victory for all of life, more than you?”   
“Arya Stark,” Dany said. “She killed the Night King. If it hadn’t been for that we never would have survived.”  
“You-“  
“Nothing I did could have continued forever. The Night King...could have continued forever.”  
“That may be, Khaleesi-“  
“It is.”  
“And would she have made it there to kill him, if you hadn’t come at all? If it weren’t for your men or your dragons thinning out the dead?”  
“I don’t know. That’s why I came.”  
“They owe you their lives.”   
“They don’t owe me their lives. That’s where I made an enormous mistake in my vision. I felt that they owed me their lives. That they should all bow down to me. Literally. Bow down.” She shook her head. “They’re a stubborn and proud people, Ser Jorah. Let them hate me, if that’s what they choose. I can’t force them to bow to me or love me or respect me. I can make them fear me, and hate me. That’s it. Lord Tyrion once told me that Cersei’s power is brittle, because it’s made of fear. I never should have allowed myself to become for one minute what I’d always sworn to fight.”   
“They don’t deserve you,” Ser Jorah finally said.   
Dany sighed. “They chose their King. And they chose well. I have to respect that. We have to respect that.”  
“But their ingratitude to you? Their irrational dislike? Do we have to respect that too?”  
Dany winced. “No. I can’t respect that. I can’t even imagine...” she broke off, shaking her head. She could not justify that at all. “But I have to accept it.” She stood. “We may as well go,” she said. She smiled faintly. “Face the wolves.”

Daenerys entered the dimly lit hall as she had the last time. But the last time she hadn’t expected the enmity. The last time, Ser Jorah hadn’t stood by her side.  
Tonight she did not have to enter the wolves’ den alone, and she was ready for their rejection.  
They entered together and she wondered if her being with Jorah had changed something in their attitude. The people had no enmity on their faces. They raised their cups as she and Jorah passed them.  
He’s a Northerner, she thought. Maybe they could bring themselves to some semblance of kindness because he stood beside her.   
She took her seat at the main table, and Jorah sat beside her. She watched as she had the first time, the celebrating, the joy in having survived.   
Tormund toasted her as he had in her vision, and the room erupted into wild cheers. They’d cheered in her vision as well, but had definitely not been as enthusiastic.   
She stood and toasted Arya Stark. The young woman wasn’t at the celebration, but she deserved a toast, deserved the cheers that followed.  
She listened to them talking and laughing. She stood suddenly, and the men at the table stood as well. “I’ll be back in a moment,” she said, nodding at Jorah particularly, in encouragement to go join the table where House Mormont sat.  
She stood outside and watched the snow falling. She was ready for cold looks, anger, all of the childish and petty dislike she knew they had for her.   
But she didn’t want to listen to Tormund howl about Jon riding a dragon, as if he were the first to do so. To see Jon just sit there, smiling indulgently and saying nothing, making no move to make her feel welcome, to include her in the celebration.  
She would have to talk to Jon. About the throne. About his claim. She’d told him in the terrible dream that if he were to allow the news of his lineage to get out, it would threaten her claim, and in his naïveté he’d not believed her.  
He would tell his sisters anyway. He didn’t care about the throne or claims enough for that to sway him, and was too naive to understand the risk.  
She suspected that he hadn’t been angry at Sansa for breaking her word. He’d been angry at Dany for asking him to keep silent, despite the threat to her life’s work, despite the threat to her life.  
She had to think about everything she’d planned now.   
Her allies might turn from her if they knew there was some higher claim. And regardless, she did not want to war with Jon over it.   
Since she’d been a child afraid of her brother, afraid of the men who would come at night to kill them, and they’d been forced to hide, again and again, she’d never had anything shake her confidence in herself the way the North had, until the vision.   
She should have taken the throne first, she thought, angry at herself. She’d woken from the vision afraid, unable to trust that she wouldn’t burn the city as she had in the dream. Nothing she’d ever done could have prepared her for becoming the person she’d become that day. She had feared that the pain of it was too close. That she would do it again.   
But she knew that if she had the throne already, Jon’s claim would not be as much of a danger to her. It would still be a concern, of course, but nowhere near as it was now, when she didn’t have it yet.  
She heard a chattering of young girls, coming closer, and she started to turn, to avoid the group approaching, a group of three girls and a woman, all laughing lightly. One of the girls had been among those who’d brought her the tub and hot water that morning. Another, the smallest, was little Catelyn who she’d met when she’d first arrived. The woman with them wore a large smile and her hair was the same dark brown as the girls’.   
Dany’s stomach clenched when she saw the woman’s broach. She remembered the broach from the nightmare depths of her vision. A body carried out of the crypts with three small ones. She hadn’t recognized them because their faces had been covered in blood. This woman’s face had been half pulp, the skin torn from the muscle beneath.   
“Your Grace,” the woman curtsied when she saw Dany, and Dany forced herself to smile in return.   
“Hello, my lady,” she responded, and the woman laughed heartily.  
“I’m not a lady at all, Your Grace. These are my girls.”   
“I met her today,” the girl from that morning said, beaming at her.  
“Thank you so much for your kindness today,” Dany said to her, then to the group, “It’s a pleasure to meet you all”.  
“It’s the least we could do, Your Grace”, the girl said.  
“My husband said the men were going to have all of us hiding in the crypts,” the woman told Dany. “You warned them what could happen. Gods! I shudder to think of what might have been if we’d hidden down there.”  
So do I, Dany thought.   
“Well, I’d best go in, my husband will be wondering where we are. It’s an honor to meet you.”   
“Likewise,” Dany said, and watched them go inside.   
As they entered, a young man staggered out, and Dany wondered if she should stand somewhere else. She’d left the hall to be alone.   
The young man appeared to have been drinking and, his back to her, he began fumbling with his pants. Dany started to walk away from this spot, and the man heard movement, turned sharply, and saw her. His eyes went wide.  
“Oh! Um, begging your pardon, Your Grace,” he stammered.   
Dany smiled, nodding in greeting and moving away.   
“Not at all,” she said over her shoulder.   
“Could I ask...I mean...would it be...”  
Dany stopped but kept her distance. She struggled not to lay her hand on her sword. Her heart was hammering. She remembered again that any plan foreseen and thwarted, would mean another plan made.   
A drunken stammering demeanor could hide a sudden deadly act.  
I don’t have love here.  
“I’m sorry,” the young man said miserably, and stepped forward. She stepped back, instinctively. He stopped. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I just wanted to...to see what you looked like. Up close. You’re younger than I thought.”  
Still wary, she smiled. “I’m younger than I feel,” she said.  
“I’d wager that’s true,” he said. “I just...I saw you. I was on the tower. I was one of the archers.”  
“You’ve done very well,” she said. “You should be proud.”  
“I saw you with your bow and arrows. You rode a dragon, then you stood up on him and loosed a storm of arrows onto the dead...and then out on the field, you...you jumped in fire.”  
“You saw that?”   
“All of us on the tower did. I never saw anything like that in my life.”  
“Well, dragons are rare,” she said lightly. She was stiff under her dress. Her palms were sweating. So many men had tried to kill her in so many ways, and then the North had been so blatant in their dislike of her.   
She had no desire to fall for kind words and then be murdered.  
You are my Queen. Now and always.  
And then the terrible pain of betrayal, of a dagger.  
“So I...I just wanted to see you. That’s all”. He put his hands up to show he meant no harm.   
“Thank you,” he added.   
He stumbled off and Dany watched him, wrapping her arms around herself, shivering.   
It felt strange for these people to treat her with kindness and she wondered if maybe he’d been sent to kill her and lost his nerve.  
She turned and went back inside. The celebration was still lively, and she could see Jorah with his cousin, Lady Lyanna, and others from Bear Island. It made her happy to see him surrounded by family, the home he’d missed.   
Tyrion was sitting with his brother, Podrick and Ser Brienne, who she’d been told Ser Jaime had knighted. Tyrion too looked happy to be with his brother again.  
She’d never had family, not really. Only Viserys.   
Was that why it had been hard to understand Tyrion’s position with his family? Why his desire for them to survive might not mean he didn’t want her on the throne.  
Was that why she had not been able to grasp Jon’s need to tell his sisters his lineage?   
But now he was her family too. And he would betray her in a second for them. The hurt was heavy, and she tried to put it out of her mind.  
She remembered at this celebration, she had legitimized Gendry Waters. She would do so again, but she would wait until she had the throne. She wondered if they’d honored her declaration after she’d died in the vision. He certainly deserved it. His forging of weapons had been crucial to the fight, and he himself had fought bravely as well.   
She knew that some people at the feast had believed she’d done so out of some political maneuver. Which was ridiculous, she thought angrily. Politically it was the silliest thing she could have done. She hadn’t won the throne for the Targaryen name yet. Jon’s claim and her own would have been meaningless in the face of a living heir to Robert Baratheon. She had done it because he deserved it, and would do so again, but only after she could uphold it.   
She decided to go out and find the Unsullied first, then the Dothraki.  
She wanted them to know how proud she was of them.   
The Unsullied accepted her praise quietly, and she could see the pride in their faces as she thanked them.  
The Dothraki, by contrast, responded loudly and passionately in response to her gratitude, raising their arakhs and cheering. Their culture had disposed them to fear such things as magic, and their victory over the dead, which to them, had been entirely lead by her and Drogon, had caused them to view her as a goddess of sorts.   
Those who had trained her and had seen her stand on Drogon to unleash storms of arrows, ran to her, and one bloodrider picked her up to swing her around.   
They made impassioned declarations and she felt their love for her, just as she had felt the love in the much more reserved but equally profound reaction of her Unsullied.  
She thought she should have gone to them in her vision, where she’d felt only the cold rejection and ingratitude of the Northerners. How had she forgotten the love of her own people?  
But of course she’d lost so many of them in that life. She had failed them by being inactive in the battle plan, she had not protected them.  
She had trusted Jon, trusted his plans to treat her men with as much respect and value as his own.   
I put my trust in you, a stranger, Jon had said to her. I’m asking you to put your trust in a stranger.  
He’d presented the argument as if it had been the same, his trusting her and her trusting him.  
But his trust in her had been rewarded by her saving his life several times, by her coming to help save his people with her armies and dragons.  
Her trust in him had cost her a dragon, her dear friend, and half her armies.  
And then another dear friend and dragon in secondary consequences.  
Finally, her trust in him had gained her a dagger through the heart.  
It had not been a fair exchange.  
Who manipulated whom? She’d asked Sansa Stark.  
As she walked back, she realized she was being followed. A man, wearing dark clothing, was walking closely behind her.  
She put her hand on her sword and turned to him, her heart pounding. The man stopped walking, and she measured the distance between where they stood, and where her men were.   
“I didn’t mean to disturb you, Your Grace,” he said. The obsequious tone of his voice set her on edge. She couldn’t trust it.  
“Why are you following me?” She demanded, her hand still on her sword.   
“Forgive me, Your Grace, I was only coming back from a little walk. I mean no harm to you.”  
She didn’t believe him. Her instincts screamed.  
And then above her, her dragons flew in, forming a circle as if they’d sensed her fear.  
“I’ll just walk ahead,” he said, looking up at them. He began to walk away from her. She watched him, eyes narrowed. She couldn’t be sure if her instincts were correct or if she was being overly cautious, but she didn’t care. She would prefer to be overly cautious to being dead.  
Her children landed beside her, and she went to them. To tell them too, she was proud of them. Stroking their scales, murmuring to them in Valyrian. The tethers were strong between herself and them, she knew they felt her love, her pride, and from them, she felt their love for her.   
They were among the few in the world who she knew undoubtedly loved her.   
She felt again the dark, terrible sadness over Jon.   
He never loved me, she thought, and she had to accept it. Had to still the love she felt for him. She took a deep breath and stood. She would have to go to him. 

Dany had gone into Jon’s room in her vision. She had declared her love for him.   
He had reached for her, kissed her, they’d begun pulling at each other’s clothes, and then he’d pulled away. She’d begged him to tell no one of his lineage.   
She could hear her own voice in her head.   
Please don’t do this.  
He’d refused her plea and her love.  
She went to him tonight as well.   
He was sitting just as he had that night.   
“Are you drunk?” She asked him.  
“No,” he told her, getting up and stumbling. “Maybe a little.” He smiled slightly and she had to harden her heart, already softening for him. He was beautiful. His eyes glittered like dragonglass and he was more relaxed than she’d ever seen him.  
“I have to talk to you about something, Jon. It’s important. I’ll be leaving for Dragonstone in less than a fortnight. I didn’t want to give you any more to think about before the battle, but it’s over now, and...” she hesitated. “And too many lives may be at stake if we don’t discuss this, and plan the next move.”  
He looked at her sharply. “Lives at stake?”   
“Sit down.” He obeyed her and she took his hand. “My brother Rhaegar was the heir to the Iron Throne. You know how succession runs. I’m Rhaegar’s sister. You’re his son. That makes you the heir to the Iron Throne, not me.”  
“I don’t want it,” he said immediately, and Dany wanted to scream at him. How she had cried and begged him in that vision!   
Please don’t do this, she’d pleaded with him. To no avail. She had tried to warn him what would happen. They’re my family. You’re my Queen. We can live together, he’d told her then.  
His Queen. Not his love. Not his family. He only saw her as family in the sense that he could abandon her love with no remorse.   
But now, he’d never even called her Queen, never made any vow to her.  
She swallowed the bitterness.  
“It doesn’t matter whether you want it or not,” she said with forced calm. “I know you’ve spent so many years at the Wall, you may have missed what was happening on the rest of the continent. But this is exactly the kind of thing that caused wars. Years of them”.  
His face was almost a smile. “You want to go to war with me now?” He teased her.  
“No, Jon. But this will get out. And when it does, it will take on a life of its own. The Lords of Westeros would prefer a King to a Queen. They would prefer a ruler born in Westeros who’s always lived here. And the laws of succession name you the heir. They don’t care if I would be a good Queen. They don’t care whether or not you want it.”  
“I’ll refuse”.  
“And you think they’ll just accept that?”  
“They’ll have to”.  
“No they won’t.”   
“What could they do?”  
“They could murder me.”   
Jon stood up at that, his eyes widening in horror. “Murder you,” he repeated. “Why would they-“  
“Why did your Uncle Ned Stark have to hide your name? Robert was his best friend. Why would anyone kill their best friend’s nephew?” She stood with him. “Why would Robert try to kill my brother and me? Two children at the other side of the world? For years, so that we had to run, all the time. Why would Stannis Baratheon kill his brother? There will be people who don’t support me. They could kill me and force your hand.”  
Jon looked as though he would be sick.  
“And then of course, there are my supporters. I would never knowingly allow them to harm you, but Ellaria Sand killed Doran Martel, their former king, and his son, so that she could kill Myrcella Lannister. For revenge. Myrcella Lannister was an innocent young girl who did no wrong. Ellaria wanted revenge for the death of Oberyn Martell.” Dany could see that Jon was getting confused by all this, but she pressed on. “Oberyn Martel died because he was trying to avenge his sister, Elia Martell, and her children. Jon. Elia Martell was my brother’s wife. He left her and their children to marry your mother. Annulled their marriage and bastardized their children. Elia and her children were killed during the war that started because of your parents’ running away together and neglecting to tell their families what they were doing.”  
Jon dropped back into his chair and lowered his head into his hands. She sat beside him, stroking his hair tenderly.   
“I know you called us all children. I know you see it that way. But this is not a children’s game. The Iron Throne is not a toy that one child can give to another because they don’t want it and the other child does. That’s not how this game works. Too many lives are affected by this.”  
“What if it never got out?”  
“It would,” she said, and she couldn’t keep the ice out of her voice.   
“How?”   
“Your sister Sansa. She would absolutely tell this secret, because if I’m killed and you take the Iron Throne, she will be Queen of the North.”  
“She wouldn’t-“  
“She would.”   
Jon looked so heartbroken about this that Dany’s heart hurt too.   
“What if I didn’t tell her?” He asked, and she knew that this would hurt him. He’d been unable to keep it from her before.  
“You want to tell her. She’s your family. She’s important to you,” she said, and had to work to keep the bitterness from her voice.  
“She is my family, and yes, she’s important to me. But you’re important to me too. I...I don’t think she’d betray my trust-“  
“She would. She’s not the girl you grew up with.”  
“The girl I grew up with hated me.”  
“Hated you?”  
“Her mother hated me, too. But it was because of hurt. Sansa thought her father had betrayed her mother. But he didn’t. I want her to know that.”  
Dany looked at him, an almost unbearable tenderness enveloping her.  
“Then you must tell her,” she said, resigned. He would tell Sansa, Dany knew, regardless of what she said. But she hadn’t realized that he had told Sansa, not because he didn’t care for Dany, but because he’d wanted to clear Ned Stark’s name. “I’m asking permission to tell my advisors,” she said. “I’ll swear them to secrecy until you tell your sisters. We need to begin planning our next steps. All I ask is that you think. Really think about what you want.”   
He looked at her and his face was dark with sadness. She cupped his face. Kissed his forehead. As in her vision, he put his arm around her. Kissed her. She kissed him back, fervently. And then, he suddenly pulled back, moving away from her. Just like in her vision.   
“Why don’t you want me anymore?” She asked quietly. She’d never asked him. She never knew why he’d stopped loving her.  
He turned to her, his eyes fierce. “Is that what you think? That I don’t want you?” He walked back to her, catching her shoulders. “That I don’t love you?”   
“Do you?”  
“I do. I want you. I love you. But you’re my aunt. I’m your nephew. We couldn’t...”  
“Our family has done it for centuries.”   
“Starks don’t,” he began, “and most of Westeros doesn’t-“ but she was furious again.  
“Oh, they don’t,” she shot back. “So when your grandfather Rickard Stark married Lyarra Stark and her name was already Stark, before she married him, what was that?”  
“That was different, the-“   
“And what of Tywin and Joanna Lannister? Her maiden name was Lannister too, they were first cousins.”  
“Dany-“  
“I’m not going to fight you. Or beg you.” She felt exhausted. “I love you,” she said softly. “But you’ve made your decision. Now please. For the sake of all our lives, make some decision about what you want to do.”  
She turned and left the room, then rushed down the hall and outside. Most of the revelers at the party had long since gone to bed. She would have a moment alone, and in truth she’d never felt more alone, outside her terrible vision.  
She put her head into her hands and wept with abandon.   
She heard a movement behind her, and stood quickly, her hand on her sword.  
Tyrion turned the corner, saw her, and raised his hands, one of which held a wine bottle. “Don’t kill me, Your Grace,” he said, smiling faintly. “It’s just me, going to take a piss and...” he stopped. Saw her face, the tears. His own features softened, and he walked toward her. “What is it?”   
She sat back down and reached for the wine bottle he held. He handed it to her and she drank deeply, then handed it back. He sat down next to her.   
“Do you want to talk?”   
“Would you do me a favor?” She asked in a voice that sounded broken, even to herself.  
“Anything, Your Grace”.  
“If it ever seems to you like I’m falling in love with someone again...punch me in the face.”  
He studied her. “Trouble with the King in the North?”   
She nodded sadly.   
“What happened?” Tyrion asked.  
“I’ll tell you tomorrow. We must sit together and have a council meeting”.   
“While I don’t think the Queen’s romances must necessarily be the subject of a council meeting-“  
“This does.”  
“He’s in love with you, if that helps”.  
“It doesn’t.”   
“Well, what’s always helped me in troubling times, is wine.”   
Dany nodded. “All right then. Let’s have some wine.”   
He looked at her, surprised. “Really?”  
“Why not?” She followed Tyrion back into the empty hall.

The hall was mostly quiet, only a few people left, drinking, singing, sleeping.   
“We got into the provisions you brought,” Tyrion told her, selecting a jug of wine and two goblets.   
“Good. That’s why I brought them.”  
“It’s a triumph for you, you know. A small triumph, of course, but notable,” Tyrion told her, pouring the wine.   
“A triumph?”  
“The Northmen weren’t touching your provisions when we first arrived here. The food was gathered to last all winter, very rationed. And here you come in with lavish food from the Reach and Dorne. And they didn’t want to take anything, even though we offered.”   
“Stubborn as goats,” she muttered, drinking her wine.  
“And tonight when the wine ran low, I suggested some of the Arbor Gold and Dornish Red we’d brought. They were quite enthusiastic.”   
Dany laughed. “I’m not so sure it’s a triumph for drunk happy men to agree to drinking more wine. But I’m glad.”   
“It’s as you said, they’re stubborn as goats. A fortnight ago, they’d have chosen no wine at all to drinking yours.”   
She sighed. “A fortnight ago nobody was sure if we’d live at all.”  
“You promised the Stark sisters you would respect Northern independence once you take the throne.”  
“I did.”  
“I think you did the right thing. I was surprised, but it was right.”   
“They chose their ruler. It’s what I wanted for my people. It’s what I left in Meereen. I don’t know how I lost my way so badly.”  
Tyrion studied her. “I don’t remember you losing your way at all. You agreed to the Iron Islands’ request as well.”  
She was quiet for a moment, drinking deeply from her cup.   
“I remember asking you then...what if they all demand their independence. You said they weren’t demanding, they were asking. But you never answered my question. If every kingdom eventually decides to be its own kingdom, what will you rule?”   
“I had forgotten something very important, Lord Tyrion.”   
“Which was?”   
“The best leaders don’t only rule their people. They serve their people. I’ll expect all the kingdoms to respect certain guidelines that protect their people. Whether they’re independent or not. The Iron Islands choose their ruler, do they not?”  
“Yes,” Tyrion said. “The kingsmoot.”  
“I can’t have children,” she said, sighing. She remembered Tyrion asking her about her plan for succession. She’d already begun to suspect him and thought he was thinking too much about her death and not enough about claiming the throne. Now seemed like a good time to talk about it. “And even if I could,” she went on, “what of it? My father inherited the throne and look what happened there.” She stopped herself before reminding him that he’d told her about the Night’s Watch. Their method of choosing a Lord Commander. He wouldn’t remember something that hadn’t happened.   
They chose Jon Snow, just as the North had. As Varys had.   
“So what’s your plan?” Tyrion asked her.  
She drank again, and felt the warmth of the wine wrapping her in a sweet sense of well being that challenged the reality facing her.  
“My plan when I take the throne-if I take it-would be to add to my small council and great council, a people’s council. Not Lords and Ladies like the great council. But regular people. When the time comes I must name an heir, I can choose several, and they nominate their own choices as well, then have a ballot. And if they can’t agree, they can elect more than one. Volantis has three. The Triarchs. The councils will convene, and settle it through debate and ballots, rather than war. If they choose to be independent, so be it.”  
Tyrion frowned and she could see he was intrigued. “How would you choose who sits on this people’s council?”  
“I wouldn’t. The people would. This way they would have a voice, emissaries who could share with me what problems they face.”  
Tyrion leaned back in his chair, and she knew he was ruminating on the implications.  
“This hasn’t ever been done before. Where did you think of this?”   
“I had left instructions for Meereen to choose their leaders. And...” she broke off. Then finished the wine in her goblet and plunged. “And from you.”   
“Me? I would have remembered if I’d ever suggested-“  
“You didn’t. But you had told me that the Night’s Watch chooses their Lord Commander. We were talking about succession.”   
“We never talked about succession.”  
“I had a vision. Some time ago. That night, you had all thought I was poisoned.” Tyrion’s eyes were fixed on her now, and she could see he did not doubt what she was saying to be true. “Everything went wrong. I made terrible mistakes. You made terrible mistakes. We all just made mistake after mistake until I betrayed everything I’d ever believed. I became everything I’d fought against my entire life, and then I was betrayed and murdered.”  
Tyrion finished his wine and poured them both some more.  
“Is there a way to change it?”  
“That’s what I’ve been doing. All this time. Making changes. By this time in my vision, Lady Olenna was dead. Ser Jorah was dead. Viserion was dead.”  
“That’s what you meant. When you said you wouldn’t let it happen again.”   
She nodded. “And now everything is different. The North may still hate me, but they may not hate me as much, now I’ve vowed not to challenge their independence, or demanded they join my war on Cersei.”  
“They don’t hate you at all,” Tyrion said. “You’ve saved them.”   
“I helped to save them in my dream too. They still hated me.”   
“In your dream, had you agreed to their independence?”   
“No. I demanded Jon Snow bend the knee.”   
“Did he?”  
“Only after I rescued his men from that ludicrous plan of yours to retrieve a wight for Cersei. I lost Viserion.” It still hurt, even though she knew Viserion was safe and healthy.   
“Did the plan work?”   
“No. Cersei said she would send men. Instead she betrayed us and hired the Golden Company to reinforce her position.”  
Tyrion sighed heavily. “Even knowing the danger to everyone, she just...I should have known.” He looked so sad, staring into his wine.  
“Your brother joined us,” Dany said. She wanted him to know that. She knew now that Tyrion loved his brother dearly, for all his introducing himself at his and Dany’s first meeting as ‘the greatest Lannister killer the world had ever seen’.  
Tyrion looked up from his wine. “Did he?”  
“He said this went beyond houses and loyalty, and just like this time, he rode alone across all of Westeros to join us.”  
Tyrion drank some more wine. “It was good to have him here. Did he survive the battle in your vision, too?”  
“He did.” She studied him. “When we met, you told me that one day you’d tell me why you killed your father. When we had more wine, you said.”   
“While we do indeed have more wine, this is a night of celebration. Surely we can find a better topic than that...I have an idea.” He refilled their glasses again. “We were playing this game earlier, before Ser Brienne and my brother left us. How we play, is I say something about you, and if I’m right, you drink, if I’m wrong, I drink.”   
She looked at him skeptically. “I don’t know about this.”  
“Come on. We’ll start easy. You are the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.”   
“That’s an opinion! You can’t verify an opinion.”  
“It’s an opinion widely held.”  
“This is ridiculous, if all you’re going to do is-“   
“Shall we ask?” Tyrion stood. “Excuse me,” he called to the small group of men still drinking in the hall.  
“Stop!” Dany said, mortified. “I’ll drink. But no more opinions.” She drank her wine and Tyrion refilled her goblet.  
“You are the last Targaryen and the heir to the Iron Throne”. She looked at him steadily. “I said I’d start easy,” he said, smiling.   
“You’d best drink,” she responded.  
“You realize that we must be honest in this game or-“  
“We’ll discuss it tomorrow. Now drink.”   
He looked wary, but he drank.   
“Now it’s my turn.”   
“The rules are that I make the statements and you-“  
“Despite all your anger and hurt, you love your sister.”  
Tyrion looked at her ruefully and drank. “I’m beginning to question the wisdom of playing this game with a person who’s just told me she’s had a prophetic vision.”  
Dany laughed. “It was your idea.”

Daenerys was laughing. The sound echoed off the stone walls in the hallway, and this made her laugh harder. The sweet burn of the wine had spread throughout her body, and she felt loose and happy.   
Tyrion’s expression of chagrin, warring with the urge to laugh himself, tickled her as well. How wonderful was everything, right as it felt this moment.  
“Your Grace, it’s good to see you happy, but it’s late-“  
Daenerys was still thinking of one of the songs the men had been singing at their table, and she attempted to remember it, singing pieces of it.  
Tyrion began to sing the missing parts, and Daenerys leaned against the wall, both of them singing.   
“What are you two doing?” Sansa Stark’s voice cut through the hallway as she entered.  
“I’m trying to get the Queen to bed,” Tyrion explained, then flushed. “I mean...I don’t mean...”  
Daenerys started laughing again.  
“I’ll help her. People have gone to sleep. Let’s try to be quiet,” Sansa said. Tyrion looked relieved and disappointed.  
“Good night,” he said meekly, nodding at both of them.   
“Good night,” Daenerys sang.   
Daenerys followed Sansa, then stumbled a bit, catching herself against the wall, giggling. Sansa sighed and wrapped her arm around Daenerys. “Lean on me,” she said. “You’re going to feel ridiculous if you fall and hurt yourself walking back to your room after all that on the field.”  
Daenerys had to agree with her, but even that seemed funny.   
“How much wine did you drink?”  
“I didn’t think it was that much, but then...it was.”  
They entered Daenerys’s room, and she carefully removed her belt with her sword, then fell across the bed.  
“I’m sorry I woke you up,” Daenerys said.   
“You didn’t. I was reading a book...it was a book I read when I was a little girl. I’d been thinking about the story. Wondering how it would feel to read it now. After everything.”  
Dany nodded, studying her. She imagined that the things they had all treasured in their childhood would seem different now.   
“Maester Wolkan said you have a kind of bread in the provisions you brought,” Sansa said, “he hadn’t had it since he was a child. He visited Dorne with his family, and they have this spiced bread. He loves it.”   
Daenerys smiled happily at the ceiling. “Good. That’s good.”  
“I know I said we didn’t need your provisions. But...” Sansa broke off, as if looking for words.  
Daenerys looked at her, surprised. “It’s all right. I understand.”  
“They talked a lot about you tonight.”   
I’m sure they did, Daenerys thought bitterly, and tried to push the sadness back.  
“I mean the men who were fighting,” Sansa went on. “And the women who were in the tunnels. We would all have been in the crypts. I’d probably be dead.”   
“You wouldn’t,” Daenerys said. “You’re a survivor.”   
Sansa smiled a little at that.   
“What was the book about?” Dany asked suddenly. “The one you were reading?”  
Sansa gave a small, bitter laugh. “It was a love story. Jonquil and Florian. When I was a child, I thought one day I’d have a knight to sweep me off my feet and rescue me.”  
“The things we believe when we’re children,” Dany said softly.   
“What was yours?”  
“Mine?”  
“Your silly childhood story you thought would happen.”  
Daenerys thought about that. “They told me and my brother that the people of Westeros were drinking secret toasts to us. Sewing our sigils into banners. That we’d return and the people would hail us and welcome us back with open arms.” She felt her mouth start to twitch, thinking of that now, and Sansa’s did also, which made Daenerys start to laugh. Sansa started laughing truly then as well.  
“What was it like, growing up in your ancestral home, with your family all around you?” Daenerys asked, when their laughter subsided.  
Sansa looked sad then, and Dany regretted asking. “I didn’t appreciate it at all then. I took it for granted. I was stupid.”  
“You were a child,” Daenerys said softly. “You didn’t know.”  
“Your sword looks like Lord Corbray’s,” Sansa said, changing the subject.   
“It was,” Dany said, eager to move to something that wasn’t painful. “Lady Olenna bought it from him for me.”  
“Lady Olenna bought Lord Corbray’s sword to give to you?”   
Dany nodded. “She knew I was looking for a Valyrian steel sword. There aren’t many left. I didn’t tell her, but...she’s a smart lady. She figures out everything.” Dany’s voice softened with affection.   
“She is indeed,” Sansa said. “I knew her in Kings Landing. And Margaery and Loras. Margaery was so kind to me.” Sansa’s voice broke a little.  
“I wish I’d known her,” Dany said wistfully. “Lady Olenna said everyone loved her. She was kind and smart and she really understood people. Was good to them.”  
“She was. And beautiful.” They were silent for a moment, then Sansa spoke again. “Thank you for the supplies. For the wounded,” Sansa said.  
Daenerys looked at her sharply. “I asked Maester Wolkan not to say anything.”  
“Why?”  
“I...I know everyone here hates me. I didn’t want them to refuse to use the supplies just because I brought them.”  
Sansa frowned. “You think everyone here hates you?”  
“I understand,” Daenerys said quickly, unwilling to allow the glow of the wine to fade back into the sadness she felt at their rejection of her. She didn’t understand, not really. But she didn’t want to think about it now. It was a wound that would bleed too easily.   
“Nobody hates you. And anyway, Maester Wolkan didn’t tell me. I stored up our supplies myself. I knew what we had and I knew it wasn’t enough.”  
Of course Sansa would notice, she realized. She sighed.   
“Why do you think everyone here hates you?” Sansa asked.  
Daenerys didn’t want to discuss that. The hurt would rear its head in the morning, she knew it would, and she wanted to enjoy the cushion the wine had wrapped around her for this small respite.   
“I don’t know why. But I saw their faces when I got here. I saw how they looked at me,” she said. She wasn’t going to add that little Cat had directly told her so.  
“We thought you were going to try to take our independence,” Sansa said. “We saw you come with your dragons and armies, and we had sworn we would never bow to a southern ruler again. We knew you wanted the throne and we thought you would try to force us back into the Seven Kingdoms. We knew we couldn’t really fight you. We’d lose.”  
“So you thought I would just burn you all if you didn’t bend the knee,” Daenerys said, and a wave of shame enveloped her. That was what she’d intended to do in her dream. Storm the entire continent demanding everyone bend the knee to her or burn.  
“We didn’t know you,” Sansa said. “And after the things I’ve seen people do, it just looked suspicious that you would come here to save us and not demand anything in return.”  
“If you lost the battle, the dead would have advanced across all Westeros. That would be my problem too.”  
“Yes, but you have Islands to go to, you have all the other kingdoms. You could even go back to Essos with everyone if it came to it. We couldn’t see any good reason for you to risk your armies, your dragons, your life, to save us, if you didn’t really just want to take the North.”  
“I wasn’t going to come,” Daenerys confessed. “But then...”  
“Jon told me. He said you decided to come because you didn’t want people to die if there was a chance you could save us. But I thought it was easy for him to believe you. That you’d be willing to take a risk like that to save a kingdom of strangers only because if you didn’t, we would die. It’s what Jon would do. And my father was like that too. He was just so good, he had trouble understanding that not everyone else was good. Jon loves you, so of course he believed you. But the rest of us...we were suspicious. And then your father, your ancestors...” Daenerys winced and Sansa hesitated. “I’m sorry,” she said finally, and Daenerys looked at her in surprise again.  
“I understand,” she said softly. That wasn’t her intention in her vision, or now, but by the end of that vision, it had been. She would have crushed their independence like the tyrant she’d wanted to destroy. She felt suddenly tired, so tired. The wine had begun to weigh on her consciousness, and she felt herself starting to slip into sleep.  
“Jon said you’re not your father,” Sansa said. “And there can be no doubt your father would never have done what you did for us.” She hesitated, and then said, with difficulty, “we owe you our lives.”  
“You don’t,” Daenerys said, and tried to focus so her words wouldn’t slur on this. This was one of the crucial points where she’d lost her own way in her vision. “No matter what anyone does for you, you can never owe them your life. Your life is yours.”  
She had been so angry at the North. But she could see that this was one point on which she had been wrong in her vision. She had saved their lives and then expected them to give those lives to her. She remembered in Essos, how she’d only asked people to follow her by choice. How she’d told the freed people of Essos that their freedom was their own. She’d betrayed herself, had betrayed her values, her vision.   
They had been wrong as well, she knew. They had treated her like an enemy. Surely her rule would be better than the Night King killing them all. Their lack of gratitude or even the slightest welcome had been unjustifiable. But she couldn’t fault them for wanting their freedom. Freedom was the very thing she’d fought for since the beginning.   
She could see Sansa studying her, and she was too sleepy now to say anything else.   
“I’m glad we talked,” Sansa said. “I’ll let you sleep. Good night, Your Grace.”   
She left the room and Daenerys slipped into sleep.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you all for reading my little story, and your comments and kudos. You are so awesome. Tyrion and Dany are hung over, I googled what medieval people did for hangovers, lol. Dany tells her advisors about Jon’s parentage. Jon tells Sansa and Arya. I kind of felt a bit disappointed that they didn’t show the scene, so I wrote one. Arya meets Dany’s dragons. They all have a council to talk about next steps. Bran decides not to be completely useless like he was in the show. I hope you enjoy it! :-)

Chapter Eight

Tyrion had woken with a pounding headache and was not surprised. He wondered if anyone had managed to avoid the ramifications of last night’s revelry. He had always been a drinker but last night even he had imbibed much more wine than he usually did. He walked carefully into the mess hall where several North men sat bleary eyed. They were gulping oats with cold water to ease their discomfort, and he was offered some as well.   
He sat companionably with the men, and his mind went over the night before. The joy of simply surviving the battle, and the deeper implications that they’d worked together and saved humanity from a fate worse than death, had created a kind of camaraderie that Tyrion suspected might be one of the strongest inducements in existence.   
They had celebrated their victory and told stories, stories of what they themselves had done, what they had seen others do.  
Arya, Jon and Daenerys had been the three names to come up again and again, and to Tyrion’s surprised delight, his own. They’d seen him on Viserion, and could not stop talking about it. He could remember the Battle of the Blackwater, how not a man had remembered or cared that he had saved them all. He’d been so bitter, so angry. But in this battle, they’d seen him, and they poured him wine and patted him on the back. He could see their awe, and frankly he himself was still in awe at the experience. He’d never been hailed by a room full of drunken warriors for his own contributions to a battle before, particularly for valor on the field, and it had made him giddy.  
Jon had been their primary focus, however. It was no surprise that they’d be so admiring of him. He was their king, after all. He’d gathered them all together to fight. He’d ridden a dragon. He had fought bravely, and if it weren’t for him, his dogged determination to have them fight together, all would have been lost. He was their hero, and they had pored over his actions, fiercely proud of him and of themselves for choosing him as their king.   
And then they had spoken of Daenerys. They’d seen her on her dragon as well of course, but more than that, they’d watched her ride Drogon with a skill that went far beyond what Tyrion or Jon could do. They’d also seen her stand on Drogon’s back in the courtyard, and kill wights with her bow and arrow. And then, the men on the tower had seen her dive into flames to take out a White Walker, then emerge from them to climb back onto Drogon and keep fighting. They talked about it again and again. And the men on the ground had described her walking back in the early morning, her face and hair streaked with soot, in tattered leather and partially melted ring mail, her sword at her hip.   
Tyrion knew he would remember the moment she’d jumped into that fire until his dying day. He had watched the Walker aiming that spear at him and Viserion, had attempted to maneuver. The first spear had almost hit them; and then Drogon was blowing down a firestorm over the Walker. Tyrion had tried to direct Daenerys to back away, terrified she herself would be brought down by the next spear. She’d ignored him, urged Drogon to rain down a blaze over the Walker. He could see her face, lit with rage. And then Daenerys was diving into that fire, and for a second he thought that she would burn. He’d panicked. As if he’d forgotten who she was. When she’d run to Drogon from the flames, the leather still burning, melting the ring mail that covered her, he’d been weak with relief.   
And then that morning, he’d gone to her rooms to make certain she was well, and she’d been sitting in a tub, naked as the day she was born, fretting about how she might be judged for her reaction to the cold, as if anyone could be foolish enough to consider her weak when she’d fought like Visenya reborn the night before.   
You’re a good advisor, she’d said to him, suddenly grabbing his hand and holding it tight. He’d had to look away from her, from the delicate face, the long silvery hair, wet and falling over her bare breasts, shimmering with the warm water.  
Tyrion tried to shake the image from his head, and thought about the celebration again.   
He hadn’t had a chance to sit and drink, and celebrate a victory, with his beloved brother in years.   
Jaime had fought beside Ser Brienne, and to Tyrion’s immense relief, had survived. Even he had been the subject of a few toasts in the celebration. When Tyrion had seen him the morning after the battle, a bit bruised and bloody but alive and whole, he had almost wept in relief.   
Jaime too had seen Tyrion ride Viserion.   
Tyrion knew he had been of crucial value in battles past, but had never received recognition, validation, as he had last night, and he had to admit he’d loved every minute of it. But when Jaime had looked at him, openly admiring, truly proud of him for his actions in battle, he had felt a deep visceral pride unlike anything he’d felt at the toasts he’d received that night.   
His mind wandered back to Daenerys, who hadn’t gotten to enjoy all the toasts made to her, the acknowledgements of her bravery, the celebration of her actions.  
She’d crept out of the feast a few times, missing much of it, and he knew why. She thought the Northerners still hated her as they had the day they’d arrived, and it hurt her. He wondered how she could believe that, after she’d promised she would respect their independence. After she’d fought the way she had for them.  
She had told him she’d had a vision, and this he found intriguing. It seemed to make sense now that she’d trampled all over the original plans they’d made. That she’d known about the dragonglass before Jon arrived at Dragonstone. That she’d decided not to demand fealty from the North.   
But she had said that Lady Olenna, Ser Jorah and Viserion had died by now in the dream. She could see evidence that the changes she’d made had altered the things that had happened. Yet she seemed blind to the fact that the North was seeing her quite differently now than they had when she’d first arrived.  
In fact, more than a few Northern lords had approached Tyrion during the feast, to ask if Daenerys had considered a betrothal, then had told him about their sons, their nephews, themselves.  
He smiled faintly. He knew the little queen only had Jon on her mind, but he also knew something had happened between them that had broken her heart. He wasn’t happy at all to see her so miserable, and yet...  
Tyrion certainly hadn’t ever considered that she might take him into her bed, even in his fantasies. But he’d expected she might seek an alliance through marriage. Some consort who she could tolerate and respect, leaving her time free to spend with Tyrion, running the kingdoms together, his wealth of knowledge about politics and the workings of Westeros, his practical-even cynical-view of the world, a perfect foil for her fiery idealism.   
His mind kept wandering to her laughing the night before. He’d never heard her truly laugh like that, freely, candidly, and the sound of it, the smile that lit her face and everything around her, was utterly enchanting.  
Tyrion liked Jon, even loved him, respected him. But he’d been frustrated by the king allowing his people to be so cold and ungrateful, disrespectful truly, of Daenerys. He hadn’t attempted in the least to make her feel comfortable in his home, after beseeching her to come save it.  
Tyrion remembered how his own family had treated Shae, and he felt sick. How could he blame Jon, when he hadn’t done any better? But then, he hadn’t been the king, and Shae hadn’t come to save the lives of his family and kingdom.   
He could not deny Jon’s unmatched courage, but in this matter he had been weak. Tyrion felt for him, though. Even Robert had said he had trouble keeping the proud and unruly Northerners in line. Still, Jon had been wrong to not demand his people treat her with at least basic respect, even if not the respect she deserved.  
But now, they’d seen her in battle. And what could have grown into terror and resentment that she would turn that ferociousness on them, demanding their fealty, had become a respect and gratitude now that they knew she wouldn’t.   
Her changing the plan to hide the women and children in the crypt was no small thing, either.   
Even the Southern lords could not seem to fathom what she’d done. Lord Tarly, to Tyrion’s dumb shock, had casually mentioned to him that his own son Dickon was of marriageable age, and that Daenerys should be considering alliances.   
Yet Daenerys seemed to be stuck in this idea of hers that Westeros hated her.  
Tyrion gulped a second mug of oats and cold water, and wondered again what had happened between her and Jon. Ser Davos seemed to believe a marriage between them would have solved many of their problems, uniting the Seven Kingdoms again and helping them heal.   
The men at the tables suddenly stood, and Tyrion turned to see that Daenerys had entered the dining hall. He stood as well, watching her stumble into the hall and look wide eyed at the men as if she’d not expected anyone to be there. She was more unkempt than Tyrion had ever seen her.  
Her braids were loose and tangled, and the moonlit curls and tendrils that had escaped their confines made a messy, silvery aura around her head. She was still wearing the dress she’d worn last night, wrinkled, with its ribbons hanging untied around her.   
“Good Morning,” she greeted hoarsely, and Tyrion saw that when her eyes landed on him she looked relieved to have a friend here. “I drank too much wine last night,” she confessed. “And now I’m sick.”  
This elicited a sympathetic laugh from the men, who appeared to trip over themselves and each other to fill a mug with the cold water and oats, to press the mug into her hands.   
“That’s all of us, Your Grace,” the Northman who handed her the oats assured her. She smiled at him gratefully, thanked him, and sat down across from Tyrion.   
She turned her smile on him then. “You could have warned me,” she teased him, though her voice was weak and she was much paler than usual.  
He laughed. “You knew about the morning fog after a night of drinking,” he said.  
“Ugh. I didn’t know I’d be this sick.”  
“It will pass,” he assured her.   
She nodded, murmuring “I hope so. This is a terrible feeling. I’m never drinking again.”  
“Oh, but you’re quite an enjoyable drinking partner,” he told her.   
She flushed. “I think I sang,” she said, her voice low.   
“You did. Quite a lot.”  
She made a horrified noise in her throat and lowered her head into her arms on the table, which made him laugh.   
“It was lovely, actually,” he told her. “And a lot of people were singing. You’re not alone, and I promise no one thinks less of you.” He was quiet for a moment, then asked, thoughtfully, “have you given any thought to a marriage alliance?”   
She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about that right now,” she said, her voice muffled as her face was still buried in her arms.  
He patted her back. “You’ll feel better soon enough. I do hope you change your mind about never drinking again. You probably don’t realize this, but you alter the energy of a room when you enter it. Your mood tends to be contagious. Your confidence inspires confidence. Your-“  
“If that’s true then everyone in this room is about to be violently ill,” she murmured, still not raising her head.  
He chuckled. “They might have done anyway, we’re all a little worse for wear from last night’s festivities. But you have the most infectious laugh I’ve ever had the privilege to listen to,” he told her.  
She looked up at him, frowning. “Are you trying to make me feel better about making an ass of myself?”  
“I’m trying to assure you that you didn’t. Truly. You should let people see that side of yourself more often.”  
“What side of myself? A drunken fool?”  
“A person who can relax. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you relax before, or properly laugh. I certainly never heard you sing before. It was very endearing.”  
She sighed, drinking from her mug. “It’s been awhile since I’ve seen myself relax,” she confessed softly. She laid down her mug and stood. “I’m going to lay back down. We have to have a council today. I have learned something recently that I must share with my advisors.” She started to walk, stumbled a little, and turned back to him. “Do you have any advice for feeling better more quickly?”  
“Yes,” he said earnestly, “more wine.”  
She gave him that slight hint of a smile she reserved for when she knew he was teasing her, and he pressed. “A little. Really. It helps.”  
She nodded. “I’ll consider it. Thank you.”

Daenerys still felt the headache that had pounded in her temples this morning, but it had eased back a bit and she had to have this council meeting whether she was up to it or not.  
Ser Jorah, Varys, Tyrion, Grey Worm and Missandei had been gathered together so she could tell them at the same time.  
She had wanted to exclude Varys from the meeting. Hadn’t he betrayed her, tried to poison her, when he’d found out about Jon in the vision?  
But everything was different now, and perhaps he would tell her to her face if she assured him it was safe to do so, a good reason for her to step aside.   
And in any event, he would find out soon enough anyway. Whether from his little birds or from Tyrion. She’d rather see his face when he found out.  
She felt the knots forming in her stomach. If she was making a mistake, it could cost her everything. It could cost her her life.  
She turned to her waiting council, and pushed her fear to the back of her mind.   
“First, you must all vow secrecy until Jon agrees that this information can get out. It’s not my secret to tell. He’s agreed to allow me to tell you, my advisors. He will tell his sisters and possibly his advisors as well, and we will have another council at that time.” They gave the swear to silence. Varys and Tyrion looked utterly confused but she’d told Ser Jorah and Missandei already of her vision and they waited.  
“My brother Rhaegar never kidnapped Lyanna Stark. He never raped her,” Dany continued. “They were in love. He annulled his marriage to Elia Martell, and-“  
“They had children,” Varys interrupted. “Elia was alive, she was of sound mind, and she never committed adultery. She was a princess, with a powerful family. How was he able to get an annulment?”  
“I don’t know. Samwell Tarly found it in a Septon’s diary at the Citadel.” Nobody answered, so she pressed on. “My brother died on the Trident, and Lyanna gave birth to his son.” She started to pace the room, nervously. “She knew Robert would kill her child, so she asked her brother Ned Stark to protect the baby.” At this point she could see the realization start to show on their faces. “Jon Snow’s name is Aegon Targaryen. Sixth of his name, heir to the Iron Throne.” She sat down heavily. A long silence followed before Varys spoke.  
“This...complicates things...” He noted, and Dany laughed.   
“Do you really think so?”  
“Is he going to challenge your claim?” Ser Jorah asked her.  
“He said he isn’t, but does that matter?” When they were silent, she continued. “Once this gets out, it will cause unrest. I have no love here-“  
“You’re wrong about that,” Varys interjected.  
“The North hates me. The Southern Lords who followed me here only did so because they’re prisoners or because I threatened them on the battlefield.”  
“I can only guess you haven’t spoken with any of them recently,” Varys told her. “Randyll Tarly was very impressed with your battle strategy and not a man here has stopped talking about the things you did during the battle. The North knows you aren’t planning to challenge their independence and you essentially saved their future by suggesting that they hide their children somewhere other than the crypts.”  
“But they love Jon. And he’s earned their love, not just through one battle. The Lords of Westeros would prefer a male, particularly one who was born and raised in Westeros. And his claim is greater than mine.”  
“Do you...not want the throne?” Tyrion asked her.  
“I do want it. As much as ever. What’s worse, is Jon doesn’t. But that’s not how succession works.”  
“He can abdicate,” suggested Varys. She turned to him and again, had to force her voice not to succumb to the rage she still felt at his actions in her vision.   
“And then my detractors may murder me, to force him to take the throne,” she said coldly.  
Varys nodded thoughtfully. “While you make a valid point, Your Grace, I don’t think that will happen. You have much more support now than when you first arrived in Westeros. The Tyrells will absolutely do anything for you, Dorne supports you fully, The Iron Islands are yours, and as for the Southern Lords...as I said, it may do you some good to speak with them.”  
“They’ve made their decision and after their honor and courage in the Great War, I can’t continue holding them as prisoners. I’ve sent word to Lady Olenna in Dorne, as well as Lady Yara. They have the right to know that these prisoners will be free, and I can only hope I’ve made the right decision. That it won’t cost lives at the blockade. But it’s a wonder they haven’t escaped already.”  
“They gave their word to you that they wouldn’t,” Tyrion pointed out.  
“They gave their word they wouldn’t escape until after the battle,” Dany said. “They’ve more than kept that word.”  
“Did you wonder why?” Varys asked her.   
“Why...what?”  
“Why they haven’t escaped yet? Or even attempted it?”   
“Because the battle only ended a day ago and they’re in all likelihood exhausted, some are injured.”   
She bitterly remembered how she’d rushed back into the war with Cersei. Rhaegal had been injured, her men exhausted and grieving, some still injured from the battle. Sansa Stark had warned her to wait, and she’d refused to listen. If she’d only followed Sansa’s counsel, she may have avoided the horrors that followed.  
“There’s more to it than that,” Varys said.   
“I agree with Varys,” Tyrion added. “I was at that party that you kept sneaking out of. I heard what they were saying about you.”   
She sighed. “I’m sure they spoke much about Jon as well.”   
“Yes, but Jon doesn’t want the throne. He’s happy where he is.”   
“But that doesn’t mean-“  
“I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Jorah said. “Maybe this will never get out.”   
“It will,” Dany said.   
“Well, let’s wait to start panicking until after Jon speaks to his family.”   
Dany nodded her agreement but the anxiety did not recede.  
“There’s some other news I think you should know,” Varys said.  
“What is it?” Dany asked tersely.  
“I’ll give you the bad news first,” Varys said, and Dany gritted her teeth. “Cersei found out about the food you were smuggling in. She’s murdered two of the smugglers.” Dany dropped her head into her hands, stricken. “She was not able to find any of the others, but we’ve been unable to continue getting food in. Some of the people in Kings Landing kept your family’s sigil. It was stamped on the packages we sent. They know you were sneaking food to them. I’m not sure if you know how rare it is for an enemy to smuggle food to the people during their own siege, but it’s made quite an impression.”  
“And now they’ll starve,” Dany murmured into her hands.  
“It’s worse than that, Your Grace. Cersei has sent her men through their houses and ordered that anyone found with the sigils should be executed for treason.” Dany shook her head in horror. “She’s sent word that the Southern Lords who vowed neutrality will be executed if they don’t appear at Kings Landing to fight the men at the siege. And those who follow her command are to burn the property of those who refuse”   
“I gave them my word I would protect them,” Dany said grimly.  
“You told them you would not harm them. Not that you would be able to prevent Cersei from doing so,” Tyrion reminded her.  
“Very few men followed the order,” Varys went on. “I understand you told them that you could not be merciful if they broke their word to you. It’s certainly more frightening to war with a Queen who has large armies, powerful allies, and three dragons, than a Queen under siege with a small army and most of her allies turned against her.”  
“This is...I have to do something. Now”. She stood.   
“Won’t you stay for the good news?”  
“How good can it be?” She demanded. She could feel the rage building within her.  
“Very good, Your Grace. You see, the men who would stand by their promise to you, were angered when some of them had their farms burned and it turned into a battle.”  
“This is good news?”  
“They eliminated those who would have obeyed Cersei and they’ve joined the siege. They’re your allies now. Lady Yara has built more ships with the gold you sent her and has completely bottled up the ports. And she’s been joined by sell sails sent by the Iron Bank.”  
“I didn’t borrow money from the Iron Bank.”  
“No, you didn’t. But Cersei and her family have, and there’s little hope now that she’ll pay them back. They’ve sent you the sell sails as a gift to help you win the war.”  
Dany felt despair weighing on her, despite this news. She had murdered the people of Kings Landing in her vision, and had taken so many steps to stop that terrible vision from becoming a reality, and now those very people were facing starvation and execution because of her.   
“This is entirely my fault,” she said, her voice heavy. “You told me not to send food and I didn’t listen.”  
“You were right to send the food, Your Grace. I’ve rarely been wrong in such a matter, under any ruler I’ve served. But you did the right thing. Their blood is on Cersei’s hands and no one else’s. You had no way to know they would keep the sigils.”  
She winced. “It was the last thing I expected,” she said softly. “But they’re being killed because of my failure to think about this. And now I’m sending people to go attack my own allies,” she added miserably.  
“You...what?”  
“The Southern Lords here have earned the right to serve their queen,” she repeated, her voice dismal. “If I don’t release them after all they’ve done, it would be dishonorable. If I do, they’ll attack my allies.”  
“You never said you would release them,” Tyrion said. “But...I do believe this is nowhere near as much a problem as you’re thinking.”   
“For one thing, there are few of them,” Varys added. “Not a significant threat against the armies assembled there. And for another thing...As I’ve said, go and speak with them.”   
Dany nodded. “I will,” she said. Her voice was small again and she left the room feeling sick. All she had done, and the people of Kings Landing were going to starve or be executed.   
She was about to put her allies in danger.   
She still wanted the throne, but wondered now if she’d been mistaken to even try to win it, if all her efforts did, was bring harm to people?   
Why should anyone follow me? She’d asked Jorah long ago.  
You would not only be respected and feared, you would be loved, he had told her.  
She’d seen how that played out. She’d never been loved by the North, the South despised her, she’d lost her allies, her friends, two of her dragons, and was finally betrayed and murdered by the one person left she thought she could trust.   
She heard steps behind her, and turned to see her council following her.   
“We’ve decided to join you,” Jorah told her.  
She nodded wordlessly. She hated to admit it, but she needed the support.  
She entered the hall where the Southern Lords and their men were sitting. A few Northerners were there as well, sitting at other tables, drinking wine or telling stories amongst themselves. They all nodded at her in greeting, and she nodded back.   
She approached the Southmen and felt the knotting in her stomach she’d become almost accustomed to.   
“I have something I must say to you,” she said, as the men at the tables stood in greeting. “Please sit.” They obeyed and she continued, “you all kept your word to me. You were honest from the beginning when you could have lied. You made no attempt to escape on the way here or once we arrived. You kept your word then too. During the battle, you fought and helped us secure victory.” She looked at Randyll Tarly. “You were put into a position where you easily could have had my armies harmed but you kept your word there as well. Your directions saved countless lives. You redirected a charge that would have harmed my men. You saved a thousand of my Unsullied with that alone. Your son Dickon saved the lives of several of my men, as well as Northmen and your own, and your son Samwell saved the lives of everyone here with his discovery of dragonglass as an effective weapon against the dead.” She returned her attention to the group. “I cannot reward you because I’m not your Queen. But your honor and courage have earned your freedom. Honor demands I release you. No one of mine will harm you on your journey back, I give you my word. I will provide resources such as food and water, and return your horses to you. You have chosen your Queen, and have earned back the right to fight for her. I thank you for your service here. We will never forget it.” She nodded at them and turned to leave.  
“I have something to say to you as well,” Randyll Tarly said, standing.   
Dany stopped and turned to him, bracing herself. “Go on,” she said.   
“When we met, you called me an oathbreaker.” Dany opened her mouth to respond, but Tarly held up a hand. “Please, let me finish. I did break my oath to Lady Olenna. I knew you would come with foreign hordes and I wanted to support Queen Cersei because she’d been born here. I thought she would be far better than a foreign invader. But you said she too would use foreign armies to secure victory and you’re correct about that. What she would not do, is put her war aside to save any part of Westeros, let alone a region that refused to call her Queen. When you did, I thought perhaps you were weak. Or stupid. Foolish to think that after you trounced us in battle. But another thing she would not do; She would not save the lives of enemies, and I saw you save my son Dickon’s life with my own eyes. I saw it from the tower. He was surrounded by those dead things. You don’t have children yet, but I’m sure you can imagine what it is to see your child in danger and be unable to do anything about it.” Dany nodded. She didn’t have to imagine, she remembered clearly the sick devastated horror of seeing her dragons shot from the sky. “I tried to have the archers assist, but they told me they couldn’t get a clear shot. The dead were too close. One of them tried and that’s how my son came by this injury to his arm. And you swept in, and stood up on that great beast of yours the way your Dothraki do on their horses, and just kept slinging arrows until you’d saved my son and a host of other men. Not one of our men harmed. And then you were gone again, blowing down fire on the dead things on the field. You came back a few times. I’ve never seen anything like it. And then I saw you take one of those Walkers out. I saw you jump into the fire. I thought that would be the end of you. But you walked out of those flames as if they were nothing and climbed right back onto your dragon.” He shook his head as if still doubting what he’d seen. “And now you come to tell us we can leave to serve our queen. Because honor demands it. Honor demands I tell you that Cersei is not my Queen.” Tarly suddenly fell to one knee before her and his son followed. Dany watched in stunned silence as the other men followed suit.

**********************************

Jon walked to the Godswood, to the Weirwood tree which loomed above Bran, it’s branches dipped with its red leaves, curving like an embrace over him.  
Jon stood facing him, and Sansa and Arya who flanked him on either side.  
“What did you want to tell us?” Arya asked.   
Jon felt his stomach twist.   
Arya had only ever treated him as a brother, and for all that had happened in their childhood, Sansa had come to call him brother as well.  
I’m not a Stark, he had told her as they’d stood on the castle wall talking about her taking her parents’ rooms.  
You are to me, she’d said.  
It had meant more to him than he could put into words.  
And now he had to tell them, he was not their brother, not their half brother. The only comfort was that they would know, at last, that their father had never betrayed their mother.  
“Bran and Sam found out something,” he said, his voice hoarse, “and I need you to swear never to tell anyone else.”   
“I need to know what it is first,” Sansa said.   
“No. I need you to swear first”, he said.  
“I swear,” Arya said without hesitation.  
“I swear,” Sansa said reluctantly.  
He hesitated. He was having trouble speaking the words. He’d never shied from truth before, no matter how hard the truth was. But this...it had been hard enough to tell Dany.   
At the thought of Dany, he felt his stomach lurch. The hurt on her face as he’d pulled away from her the night before, the fierce argument she’d made in defense of their love when she’d thrown at him the familial ties of his grandparents, of Tyrion’s parents.   
The defeat in her eyes as he’d attempted to argue with her.   
“I could tell them if you’d like,” Bran offered impassively.  
Jon nodded gratefully and Bran began to tell the tale of his parents and their ill fated love.  
They listened and he watched their faces in dismal expectation.  
They were silent for a moment, then Arya looked at him.   
“You’re still our brother,” she said firmly.   
Sansa nodded her agreement, then: “This makes you the heir to the Iron Throne,” she said. “Does Daenerys know?”  
“Yes. I told her before the battle.”  
“What did she say?” Sansa demanded.  
“Before the battle? Not much, she wanted to make sure I was all right.” He smiled faintly at the memory. Neither of us is alone, she’d said. “But last night, after the battle...she said the same thing you did. That I’m the heir, not her.”  
“What is she going to do?” Sansa asked nervously.  
Jon frowned. “I don’t know. I told her I don’t want the throne-“  
“Jon! It’s yours! It’s yours by right.” Sansa said.  
“By what right, Sansa?” Jon demanded back. “Robert Baratheon defeated Aerys, he defeated Rhaegar. There is no right. If Dany wins it back, the only right to that throne is hers.”  
“Dany? That’s what you call her?” Arya asked, smiling crookedly at him, and he flushed.   
“Jon, you would be a good ruler,” Sansa persisted. “Better than her.”  
Jon felt a bolt of anger go through him at that. “Why are you so determined to hate her?” He asked. “She didn’t have to come here. She didn’t have to help us at all.”  
“If she hadn’t, the dead would have stormed all of Westeros. She said so herself.”  
“Aye, and did she tell you her plan for that?”  
“No, but-“  
“She would have evacuated everyone and lured the dead into the capital. Her father had caches of wildfire all over the city. She’d have burned them with her dragons and set off the wildfire.”  
Arya frowned. “That’s a good idea,” she said. “Why didn’t she do that?”  
“Because she knew the people here would never leave the North. She knew we would all die. She said she couldn’t let people die if she could save us. She never once tried to end our independence.” He turned back to Sansa. “You have no idea what kind of ruler she’d be. You don’t know her...Sansa, you realize if this gets out she could be murdered.”  
“Murdered? Why?”  
“She said that there are people here who are mired in the idea that the ruler should be a man. That being born in Westeros would mean being a better ruler. That I have the better claim.”  
“You do-“  
“She said you would tell other people about this because if she’s killed and I’m forced to take the throne, you’ll be the Queen in the North,” Jon told Sansa, his voice questioning.   
Sansa was angry now, he could see her blue eyes snapping with it. “She said that?”  
“It’s not just her in danger. Any supposed claim I have rests on Rhaegar annulling his marriage to Elia Martell. The Dornish would be angry about it.”  
“Maybe she’ll kill you herself,” Sansa snapped.  
Jon sighed deeply. “Sansa, she knew before the battle. If she wanted me dead all she’d have had to do was take her dragons and armies and go back to Dragonstone. But she didn’t. In the battle, I was surrounded by wights and she burned them to protect me. She’s better than that.” He sighed. “She’s going to talk to her advisors. She’s sure this will get out and she doesn’t want to be killed. And I...I don’t think I could live with it if she were harmed because of me.”  
“Because you love her,” Sansa said.  
“It’s not just that, Sansa. You realize we’d all be dead if not for her?”  
“It was Arya who killed the Night King.”  
“I might have never made it to him if she hadn’t been here,” Arya said. “But if she hurts you, Jon, I’ll-“  
“She’s not going to.”  
“How can you be sure?” Sansa asked him.  
“I agree,” Arya said. “I don’t think she’d hurt you. I’m just saying if she does...but she loves you.”  
Jon winced. “Aye, she does,” he said softly. This much he knew was true. “And I’ve broken her heart.”  
Arya frowned. “You broke her heart?”  
“I can’t be with her now. I’m her brother’s son.”  
Arya looked at him sympathetically.   
“Isn’t that what Targaryens do?” Sansa asked acidly.   
“Sansa!” Arya snapped.   
“And anyway our grandparents were cousins once removed,” Sansa persisted.   
“It’s not the same thing,” Jon said heavily. “We can meet with her advisors to talk about what we should do. I need you all to keep this private.”  
“You have to at least tell your advisors,” Sansa said.  
“I’ll tell Ser Davos. I trust him.”  
“You’re our brother,” Arya repeated. “Don’t ever forget that.”   
He wrapped her in a hug, and, as Sansa leaned in, he reached out an arm to include her as well. 

*********************************

Daenerys needed to see her children.   
She wanted to go now and take the capitol, save the people she’d murdered in that other life, destroy Cersei. She knew she had to be patient. But every moment that passed now could cost another innocent life.   
She knew Tyrion didn’t want her to kill Cersei, and she knew Lady Olenna did.   
How could she possibly rectify the two? And didn’t Tyrion realize that if she didn’t execute Cersei, she herself would likely never be safe?   
She could not forget what Cersei had done to Missandei. Beautiful, kind, wise Missandei. But was it fair to punish Cersei for something she’d done in a different life?  
She’d done plenty wrong in this life, Dany reminded herself. Hadn’t she murdered Lady Olenna’s son and grandchildren? And many innocents?   
And yet Tyrion wanted her to be spared.   
How must it be, Dany wondered, to be loved, truly loved, such that an atrocity like that could be forgiven?   
Dany doubted he would have desired to spare her life in that vision. She remembered how he’d thrown the pin she’d given him down the stairs of the ruined Keep. He’d have killed her on the spot if he could.  
It didn’t matter, she told herself. She was going to her children; they would love her always. She saw a man approaching and shuddered when she realized it was the same one who had followed her the night of the battle for the dawn.   
She froze, put her hand on her sword.   
“Your Grace,” the man said, smiling at her. It was a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.   
Her heart was pounding. She was wondering if she should run. Call her children. Draw her sword.   
“Your Grace,” Arya Stark’s called behind her. She turned and almost hugged her in gratitude. She smiled at her and she tried to contain the relief coursing through her.   
Arya approached and looked at the man appraisingly.  
“My Lady,” he said to her, and hurried back to the castle.   
“I’m so grateful that you came when you did,” Daenerys confessed. “I don’t trust him. I can’t put my finger on why, but-“  
“I don’t trust him either. You shouldn’t be walking alone.”   
Daenerys nodded. “Lord Tyrion said the same thing, and Lord Varys as well. I just...”  
“I understand”, Arya said. “Sometimes you want to be alone. I’ll follow you if you like. That way you can feel alone but know I’m watching your back.”  
“Or...maybe you can just walk with me? I’m going to see my children.”  
“Your children?”  
“My dragons.”  
“Oh!” Arya’s face lit up.   
“I’m sure they’d love to meet you.” Dany smiled at her and they walked together. “You can just call me Daenerys. If I’m not calling you ‘My Lady,’ I don’t see why you should have to call me ‘Your Grace’.”  
“I don’t like being called ‘Lady’. You like being called ‘Your Grace.’”  
“Most of the time,” she said softly.  
“Jon calls you Dany,” Arya observed, and Dany laughed, flushing.   
“He does.”   
“He talked to us today. About...his parents.”  
Daenerys nodded. “When he’s ready, we can all sit together to figure out what we should do next.”  
“He doesn’t want to be King.”  
“So he told me. But he doesn’t want to hide his true identity either.”  
“Are you sure about that?” Arya asked.   
Daenerys frowned. She wasn’t sure about that at all. He’d wanted to tell his sisters, but that didn’t mean he wanted anyone else to know about it.   
“No,” she finally said. “I’m not sure yet what he wants. I don’t think he’s sure yet.”  
They drew closer to where her children were laying, and Dany turned to Arya. “Stay back, I want to let them know who you are first”.   
She walked close to them, and began speaking to them in Valyrian, stroking them and murmuring. They didn’t like the North. They didn’t like the cold. She spoke words of comfort, of assurance. She turned to Arya, who was watching in awed fascination.  
“All right, come on over. If you want to.”  
“Of course I want to,” Arya said with a slight laugh, and Dany recognized that Arya had stood back out of respect, not fear, and on her face she saw only excitement. She stepped closer, nearest to Rhaegal, and glanced at Dany. “Can I touch him?” She asked.   
“He wants you to. See how he’s leaning toward you?”  
Arya reached up and touched him, stroked him as Jon had stroked Drogon. “They’re so beautiful,” she murmured, and Dany beamed at her.   
Arya was not trembling, not scared in the least. Dany saw only awe and respect on her beautiful little face, and she had to fight the urge to hug her. To thank her for not seeing her beloved children as terrifying monsters, but as the magnificent beings they were.  
She felt overwhelmed with affection for her.  
Arya looked at her then, and smiled at her.   
They sat together with the dragons for a while longer, then began to walk back.  
After a few minutes of silence, Arya turned to Dany, still walking, and asked, “what would you do if Jon did want the throne?”  
Dany sighed. She’d given this some thought. She knew she couldn’t harm him, regardless of what he’d done to her in that life that never was.  
“When I was a girl, I thought my brother Viserys was going to take the throne. It was never supposed to be me.”  
“What happened?”  
“He threatened to cut my baby out of my belly,” she said bluntly. “Pushed his sword right against me. Cut me a little. Just a little. And-“  
“Why?” Arya demanded. “Why did he do that?”  
“He was impatient. He’d sold me to my husband Drogo in exchange for his army. He was getting angry because Drogo...he was waiting for a sign. And Viserys didn’t want to wait.”  
“What happened?”  
“Drogo killed him.” Her voice was low, remembering. “Viserys would not have made a good king. He was vain and weak and cruel. Jon is none of those things. I want the throne. But it’s not worth dying over. Not worth losing those I love.” She had already lost too much in that other life, she thought. “It certainly wouldn’t be worth going to war with Jon over. I really don’t know what I would do. Go back to Essos maybe? What does one do, when their life goal is gone?”   
“I mean...would you hurt him?”  
Dany shuddered. “I couldn’t ever hurt him,” she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. She knew that he’d murdered her in that other life. That his family, the North, his duty, and any number of things came before her in his heart, and yet still she had to struggle not to put him before everything else in hers. He saw her as family enough to deny her love but not enough to grant it. He’d never even mourned Rhaegal.   
Like herself, just a casualty of war, a thing he needed to save his family and then discard.   
But she knew in her bones that she couldn’t harm him.   
“I’d probably argue with him over it,” she said.   
Arya laughed. “Argue with him?”  
She nodded. “Yes. The days of my family killing each other over that throne are over,” she said firmly. “This is all irrelevant as long as Cersei is on the throne. And I can’t let that stand, even if I wanted to. She’s executing people. Once it’s won, if Jon wants the throne-“  
“He doesn’t. I was just asking. He said once you win the throne, you have the only right to it.”  
Dany was quiet. Indeed Jon had never wanted the throne in her vision either. But it hadn’t mattered. 

Daenerys was looking over a map of Kings Landing she’d found in the library. She knew she should be thinking about her claim, about Jon, about how to control the damage that could be caused by this information.  
Soon her advisors, and Jon, his family and his advisors would all be here to talk about it.   
But all she could think about was Kings Landing. The people she had rained fire upon in her vision. The people who were starving, or being executed because they’d eaten the food she’d sent. Because they’d kept the sigils that were on the packages.  
Had she ever truly believed the stories they’d fed her brother about people secretly sewing her family’s sigil onto flags? Drinking secret toasts to their true king, or any of the obsequious fantasies that had swelled her brother’s head?   
After her vision, she’d realized this campaign would be less of a matter of winning the people’s love, than actively battling their hate and suspicion.   
But to find that some of these people, hungry people, had saved some flour sack or keg because it had her family’s sigil on it, a small act of gratitude to her, had struck her with an affection for them that was overwhelming.   
And to think they were being killed for it...she could not calm her rage. This had to be stopped. She had to save them. She’d burned them all alive in her vision. She felt sick now thinking of it. She pressed her hands to her head, lost in thought.   
She heard the door open and glanced up. Sansa Stark entered, then stopped when she saw her.   
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” she said, and her voice sounded cold.  
“It’s your home,” Dany said, “if anything I’m disturbing you. Do you need to be alone?”   
“No,” Sansa snapped.   
Daenerys frowned, but returned her attention to the map in front of her. Sansa was behind her, slamming books in and out of their place on the shelf, and Daenerys turned around to look at her.  
Sansa gave her an icy glare, then turned back to the shelves.  
“Lady Sansa, is there something you want to say to me?”  
“No. I have nothing to say to you,” she said, and her voice was almost a snarl.  
Daenerys felt the knots in her belly tighten, and tried to ignore it. She had no idea what had piqued the red wolf’s temper, and she wondered if maybe she’d said something when she was drunk that had offended her.  
She would have to worry about it later, she decided. She had to figure out how to prevent more people from being executed.   
After another minute of silence punctured by Sansa slamming things behind her, Sansa turned back to her.  
“Actually, I do have something to say to you.”  
Daenerys swallowed her impatience and turned to her. “All right, what is it?”  
“You told Jon that I would betray him. And you. That I would tell people his lineage because if you were murdered, he would have to take the throne and I would get to be Queen of the North.”  
Daenerys frowned. “I did,” she confessed.  
“That’s the kind of person you think I am?” Sansa demanded. “That I would have you murdered, after you saved our home, and our lives? That I would betray a secret after I made a vow under my family’s Godswood?”  
“I didn’t know where he was going to tell you-“  
“That I would spread a secret my father took to his grave?” Sansa’s voice was like a whip, slashing through the air with controlled rage. “Betray my brother? To have you killed. Just so I could be the Queen. That’s what you think of me.”  
It’s what you did, Daenerys thought. Dany couldn’t tell her that. But yes, it was what Sansa had done, and now Sansa was angry, as if Dany had accused her of something she was innocent of doing.   
But she is innocent, Dany reminded herself. She hadn’t actually done it, not now.   
“I knew you didn’t like me,” she began carefully.  
“I didn’t know you,” Sansa shot back. “But even still, I wouldn’t try to have you murdered.”  
“Not directly-“  
“Not at all! You didn’t like me either. You know you didn’t. But I didn’t think you’d try to murder me. And after we had that conversation, I thought-“   
“I said that to Jon before we had that conversation,” Daenerys said quickly. “And you did think I’d murder you. You thought I’d burn everyone to get them to bend the knee.”   
“I explained that to you,” Sansa snapped.  
“I had that conversation with Jon before you explained it to me,” Daenerys repeated. “I thought you would-maybe not directly try to murder me, but that it wouldn’t be that much a concern to you if someone else did. Not if it meant protecting the North.”  
“You said you weren’t going to try to take the North.”  
“And you said you didn’t believe me.”  
“So you figured I’d just have you killed.”  
“Or just not care either way, as long as Jon was on the throne instead of me.”  
“He’d be a better ruler than you, but that doesn’t-“  
“How do you know that?” Dany stormed at her suddenly, standing to face her. “You don’t even know me.”  
“I know you’re a Targaryen-“  
“So is Jon!”  
“You want all Seven Kingdoms. Admit it.”  
“I do-“  
“I knew it!”  
“But I wasn’t trying to force you to-“  
“You would have eventually!”  
“You’re just going to hate me no matter what I do! You don’t even care whether I’d be a good ruler or not, you just-“  
“Because it’s all your family does! Conquer everyone. You did that in Essos too, you took over every-“  
“I took three cities in Essos! That’s it. Three. I didn’t try to take over all of Essos-“  
“Oh, you only took three cities. That’s all. My mistake,” Sansa’s voice dripped with sarcasm.  
“They were slave cities! Should I have just left them alone to continue to enslave people?”  
“You only did that to expand your power.”  
“That’s not true!”  
“Then why didn’t you take Volantis? They have slavery.”  
“Volantis-“  
“And why did you leave? You think they’ll be able to stay free with you all the way here?”  
“Yes. I’ll go back if they need me to help-“  
“Of course you will. No doubt that you’ll do that, and once you claim the throne you’ll take Volantis too. And you’ll keep taking and taking until you rule the world.”  
Daenerys shuddered violently, sitting back down. In her mind, that terrible day that she’d stood in the ashes and broken stones, flashed before her, the speech she’d made to her Dothraki and Unsullied Warriors running through her mind. She swallowed the lump in her throat and took a deep shaky breath.  
“When I left Meereen, I didn’t abandon them,” she said, her voice low. “I left an army to see to their welfare and orders to keep the peace while they chose their own rulers. I wasn’t trying to rule the world.”  
“It’s hard for me to believe that.”  
“I’m not here to prove myself to you, Lady Sansa. You’re going to believe what you want to believe. But for you to put my life in danger just because you want your brother on the throne when you don’t know anything about me or what kind of ruler I would be-“  
“Which I didn’t do. You just decided I was going to.”  
“I didn’t just decide that. You said you thought I was going to force you to bend the knee even after I gave my word that I wouldn’t.”  
Sansa was quiet at that, then she sat down. “I have trouble trusting people. I’ve made that mistake before.”  
“So do I,” Daenerys said.   
Sansa glared at her. “And you figured it would benefit me to have you out of the way.”  
Dany nodded. “I did,” she said.   
“I didn’t want to be powerless again,” Sansa said, her voice still cold but softening.You have no idea what it’s like to have no power, to be at the mercy of everyone around you.”  
“Yes, I do. You think I was just handed my armies and dragons?”  
“And if someone with more power than you’ve ever dreamed of,showed up claiming to help you, you wouldn’t be suspicious?”  
“I might, but I wouldn’t hold the lives of my own people at such little value that I would treat potential allies who came to help save their lives, like enemies.”  
Sansa sighed. “I’m sorry about that.”   
“I wouldn’t try to spread information that would get them murdered because they dared to come help me.”  
“I didn’t do that either.”  
Dany frowned. This was true. Sansa was no more guilty of that now than Dany was guilty of all she’d done in the vision. She had in fact made a false accusation. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t trust you, and I thought you would.”  
“I understand,” Sansa sighed after a long silence, and she looked tired. “I would have thought the same thing.”  
They were quiet again, and Daenerys turned back to the map in front of her.  
“When you were in Kings Landing,” she said, “did you ever see any passageways? To get out?”  
“No. You think Cersei will sneak out?”  
“No. I’m trying to figure out how to sneak the people out. They’re starving.”   
“That’s the purpose of a siege, isn’t it?”  
Daenerys sighed. “It wasn’t my purpose. We were smuggling food in but Cersei found out and now she’s executing them. I need to get them out of the city.”  
“Right. Jon mentioned that. That you were smuggling food into the city even though it was your own siege”. She smiled faintly. “I think that’s when he fell in love with you.”  
Dany’s heart hurt at that. Whatever it was that had made him fall in love with her, he’d fallen back out in a hurry and as much as she loved him, she had to think about saving the people, not her own heartbreak. She had put her love for him before everything in her vision, and it had been disastrous.  
“He still loves you,” Sansa went on.  
“I doubt that,” she said, still studying the map and blinking back tears that suddenly threatened.  
The door opened again and Jon entered with his advisors, her advisors, and Arya pushing Bran’s wheelchair. Dany stood, as did Sansa.  
Jon looked so uncomfortable, she wanted to go to him, comfort him. As everyone sat down at the table, she did so as well and waited.   
“Have you thought about it?” She finally asked.   
“I haven’t changed my mind,” Jon said. “I’ve never wanted the Iron Throne. I’ve never wanted any throne.”  
“You said you didn’t want to be King in the North either,” Sansa pointed out.  
“The North is my home. I had to try to save it.”   
“You didn’t really want me to nominate you for Lord Commander, either,” Sam said. “But you were happy when you won.”   
“Because I knew that would give me the chance to get the Free Folk south of the Wall.”  
Dany studied him. He looked miserable. She thought about all he must have gone through to fight this danger that had almost killed everyone. Those scars on him. Every time he’d accepted some higher rank offered him, it was only to save people. She felt the admiration she’d always felt surging through her.  
She’d loved him and lost him before she ever met him.  
“There’s no war with the dead now,” Dany said. “No war with Free Folk. What do you want to do?”   
“I told you I don’t want-“  
“I’m asking what you do want.”  
He looked at her then with such anguish and longing that she felt it as a physical blow.   
She swallowed hard and looked down at the map again. “I need to get the people out of Kings Landing. I don’t want to be murdered while I’m trying to do it. Knowing that the stakes are what they are, we have to plan what to do next.”   
“If this never got out, if no one ever knew...” Varys began, and Dany was glad she had left her sword in her room. She could not have promised Varys’ safety in that moment. In her vision he would have happily told all the lords of Westeros. He would have tried to murder her himself.   
“It will get out,” Dany said. “A thing like this always does.” She’d learned that much.  
“I’ll say it’s a lie,” Jon stated.   
“No one will believe it’s a lie. It makes too much sense. It makes a lot more sense than the famously honorable Ned Stark being unfaithful to his wife,” she said.   
“Don’t you even want the throne?” Sansa asked.  
“I do. But I don’t want to die for it.”   
“Dany, I don’t want it, and even if I did, you deserve it. All you’ve done”.  
“And what about what you’ve done?”  
“Anything I’ve done was to save my people.”  
“Which is a trait anyone would want in a king,” Dany pointed out.  
“Maybe someone could help me catch up,” Ser Davos interrupted. “Do you want the throne or are you trying to talk him into taking it?”  
“I want it. I’ve always wanted it. But...but why did I want it? Because I thought it was mine by birthright. Because it was taken from my family. But it’s his birthright and he is my family.”   
“If I may add, it’s also because you had plans. Ideas,” Tyrion said. “You said you were going to break the wheel. Remember that? The wheel that crushes the people on the ground under it. You were going to set up a people’s council so everyone has a voice in how they’re governed. You entered cities in Essos where people were enslaved and now those people are free, they’re building commerce and choosing their own rulers. Those people didn’t care about your birthright, Your Grace. Right now you are sitting here in this council about your claim and a possible threat to your life, and you keep looking at that map because all you can think about, is a city full of people you want to save.”  
Dany sighed. Yes, she had ideas. But what good would ideas about the future be, for the people who needed help now? She needed an idea that would get them out of a terrible situation that she had put them into.  
“You have three dragons,” Sansa said. “Why can’t you just storm the city?”  
“If she storms the city with dragons, thousands will die,” Tyrion said.   
“All the men were talking and said she killed wights in the courtyard without hurting any of them,” Sansa responded.   
“She used arrows in the courtyard,” Arya told her. “Not fire.”  
“I thought she was on a dragon.”   
“She shot the arrows from on the dragon.”  
Sansa looked at Arya dubiously.   
Dany pulled the map closer to her, frowning. She could remember that day, the day that should have been the greatest day of her life. The city had fallen in less than an hour. No innocent person had died in that first attack. They surrendered. And she had murdered them. Burned them all. Just like her father. Would it happen again?   
It won’t, she tried to assure herself. But how could she know?   
Missandei was alive, she reminded herself. Ser Jorah. All three of her dragons. The trauma that had crushed her had never happened.  
“What if I just took out the fortifications?”   
She ran her fingers over the map. She described the strategy she had used that nightmarish day in her vision. “Crush the walls and blow open the gate? Our men could storm the city.”  
“Can dragonfire crush walls?” Sansa jumped in.  
“Yes,” Dany said.   
“You asked me to tell you if I think you’re making a mistake,” Varys said. “This is a mistake.” Dany felt a chill as she remembered his words in her vision, the same words he spoke now.   
“Do you think it’s a mistake?” Bran asked suddenly, looking at her.  
“I don’t,” she said, remembering how quickly the city had fallen, how little bloodshed there had been, how there had been no civilian casualties. It’s what she should have done at the first, she thought.  
“Go on,” Bran urged.  
“I...wasn’t going to say anything else.”  
“You were thinking it.”  
“You can read minds?” Her voice was not sarcastic, she was surprised.  
Bran almost smiled. “No. I can’t read minds. But I’ve been watching your situation. Finish your thought.”  
She sighed, then plunged. “I think it was a mistake not to do this in the first place,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly in the face of Tyrion’s and Varys’s horror.  
“You are not here to be queen of the ashes,” Tyrion reminded her.  
“Nor would I be. If I’d stormed the wall and the fortifications, our armies could have taken the city. It would have been fast, and would have spared the civilians the starvation and execution they’re facing now.”  
“It’s not a mistake to do it now, and you know it,” Bran stated. “But know when to stop.”   
She nodded. Know when to stop.  
“Once the wall is breached, we can storm the city on the ground,” Jorah noted. “We’ll have to have a war council. Most of Westeros is with you. We’ll go to Dragonstone to begin whenever you’re ready.”   
“I’ll come with you,” Jon offered.   
“Your people need you here,” Dany told him. “But thank you. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”  
“My people will be in good hands with Sansa. My officers will join us.”   
“I don’t think your officers will-“  
“They will. They’ve said as much.”   
Dany was silent, absorbing this.   
“The men we have are exhausted. Many of them are wounded. They’ll fight better if they have time to rest and recuperate,” Sansa said.   
Dany remembered well Sansa’s words at her war council in the vision.  
If Dany had heeded the advice she gave, she might have saved Missandei. She might have saved Rhaegal.   
The longer I leave my enemies alone, the stronger they become, Dany had said. She’d been so selfish, and so utterly devastated by loss, by rejection. All her years of patience and planning, and she’d rushed in and lost everything.   
But then, she’d been right. Her enemies had grown stronger when she’d left them alone.  
She wondered if she should wait. Rushing had only brought horror in her vision.  
But then in her vision, half of Dany’s Unsullied and most of her Dothraki had been gone, and that was not the case now. Cersei had had the Golden Company and Euron’s fleet. Dany had only been planning a siege at this council, because she had lost the Tyrell army and the Dornish had not yet been recovered to Dany’s side.  
And most of all, the danger to the people of Kings Landing had been herself.   
“Lady Sansa is right,” she told Jon. “Your men need rest and so do many of mine. But the longer we delay, the more people will starve. Cersei is executing them. I have to act. Now. I’ll talk to my men, those who are unable to fight now can return to Dragonstone.”   
“We will fight beside you,” Jon insisted. “I’ll talk to my men, find out who needs to stay behind.”   
“They won’t stay behind unless you make them,” Sansa said. “They’re obsessed with her, they’ll say they’re up to it even if they aren’t.”  
Obsessed with me? Dany was inclined to think the opposite.   
“You’ll want to discuss this among yourselves,” she said. “Any decision you make will be yours. If indeed your men are willing and able to fight for me-and those willing but not able-please extend to them my deepest gratitude. But you are an independent kingdom. There’s no obligation for them to fight for me.”  
She started to leave. Her hands were shaking. They were coming right up to the end game, where she’d utterly lost herself. She could not shake the fear that it would happen again.   
I must not let it happen again.  
“I’d like a moment alone with you,” Bran said to her. She looked at him, surprised. “Not now,” he added. “I’ll be at the Godswood. Meet me there.”  
She nodded at him. “All right,” she agreed.

She wanted to find Missandei. This had been the day, in her vision, that Missandei had been captured. She needed to see her, to remind herself that she was safe and well.   
She found her sitting outside on one of the ramparts, wrapped up in her coat, watching the sun setting.   
She sat down beside her. “Are you all right?”  
Missandei nodded. “You?”  
“Yes.” She reached over and took her hand. In her vision, Missandei had been dead by now, she thought as the sun dipped under the horizon.   
Dany wondered why she hadn’t just bent the knee to Cersei to save her. Missandei’s life was worth more to her than a thousand thrones. She’d been so angry over Rhaegal. So devastated. She had been stupid, she thought, her heart hurting.   
“I’m here,” Missandei said softly, squeezing her hand. “Your dragons too. And Ser Jorah. The Tyrells. You said in your vision you’d lost half your men in this battle. You haven’t even lost a quarter of them now. You can stop being so afraid.”  
“I don’t think I can ever stop being afraid,” Dany said with a sigh. “But I’m so happy you’re here.”   
Missandei smiled, squeezing her hand. “Me too.”

Daenerys walked outside to the Godswood where Bran was waiting for her.  
His eyes were rolled back, white, so she stood and waited, enjoying how the red of the leaves of the tree flashed richly against the pale, snowing night sky.  
Bran’s eyes turned dark again, fixed on her.  
“You wanted to speak to me?” She asked.  
“I don’t involve myself in things,” he said softly. “I see things, but I don’t try to change them.”  
She nodded. She knew now he must have known she would be ambushed by Euron’s fleet. Or could have known. Had he simply not seen, or had he decided she was not worthy to be warned?  
“I have allowed things to happen as they were meant to happen,” he went on. “The world is so full of things happening that if I tried to stop every tragedy I would fail anyway, and be lost.”  
She studied him. “You’re explaining yourself to me?”  
“No. I’m telling you a difference between us. You only saw your own tragedies. So you stopped them.”   
“Yes,” she said, sighing.  
“You understand where you lost your way in that life? It seems like you don’t,” he said.  
“I lost my way in many matters,” she murmured. “And I’ve been trying to fix it.”  
“No,” Bran said firmly. “You lost your way in one matter and it affected the others.”  
She looked at him, surprised. “You think I lost my way in only one matter?”   
“Yes. And I think you know where it was, too, but you haven’t recognized it. And after the pain you experienced, it could take years before you do. And you don’t have years.”  
She turned away to keep from glaring at him, snapping at him. She didn’t have time for cryptic riddles, either.   
“I don’t,” she agreed.  
“When you were in Meereen and the slavers attacked the city, you were going to crucify them. Kill their armies. Return their cities to dust.” She shuddered. “You didn’t. Why?”  
“Tyrion advised me not to.”  
“Yes, but why did you listen?”  
“Because he was right. That’s not the queen I want to be.”  
“You’re a queen, not a butcher,” he said, and she looked at him sharply, remembering that she’d said that to Daario as they lay naked together.   
“Yes,” she said tensely.  
“You knew Tyrion was right. Because what he said aligned with what you wanted. You tend to forget that when you’re angry.”  
“So you think I lost my way because I got angry and didn’t listen to him?” She demanded. “If I’d listened to him, we’d have lost-“  
“No. You lost your way because you listened to him when you weren’t angry. When his counsel contradicted your own instincts. And not only him. Everyone. You always followed your own instincts before. You would listen to what your advisors told you, and then you would weigh that against your own instincts. That’s not what you did in your vision. You listened to everyone else and then when you saw your instincts had been right all along, all you had left was grief and rage.”  
She studied him. “Why are you telling me this?”  
‘Because if you win this war, you’ll be queen. And if it happens again, you’ll be much more dangerous.”  
“I can’t let it happen again.”  
“No. You can’t.”  
“Don’t lose your way again.”  
She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. There was no surety that she wouldn’t lose her way again. She had to be vigilant. Now she knew what she was capable of doing, she had to carefully question herself. She had to rebuild her faith in herself, but be sure that faith wasn’t blind.  
“Thank you,” she said, finally.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, your comments, feedback, kudos and suggestions mean the world to me!  
This chapter goes over some of Jon’s thoughts, Cersei is getting desperate, might have to do a POV scene with her in the next chapter or so.  
I hope you enjoy this chapter! :-)

Chapter Nine

Jon had barely slept. As the sun started to rise, he dragged himself out of bed, got dressed, and walked to the stables. He needed to clear his mind. It was too early for any of the stablehands to be awake, and in his youth he’d saddled his own horse most times anyway.  
He rode out of Winterfell and across the frozen countryside.  
The war with the dead was over.  
It had weighed on him for years, an inescapable terror. Everything he’d done for those years, had been with the aim of defeating the Night King.  
There was relief, and that first night, even joy. He had not expected to survive the Long Night. The sense of finality and repose, a sudden ability to breathe easily, without the looming threat of human annihilation, had brought with it an unexpected feeling of being lost. It was as if he’d spent so long existing as a pillar against the crushing weight of extinction, trying to bring in as many people as he could to help support that weight, that now, in its absence, he felt light. But lost. A ship that had suddenly lost its anchor and was free, but without purpose.  
And now even his name was a lie. Everything familiar, his entire reality, had disappeared, leaving only confusion.  
What would come next was another war, a war that was all but won. Cersei had sent him and Sansa a raven, moons before, demanding they present themselves to bend the knee. At winter’s end she would surely attack them. They had time to plan of course, but he knew he wouldn’t take that time.  
He would join Dany in her war against Cersei.  
He had been surprised, and grateful, when the first of his officers had asked permission to join Dany’s men to fight Cersei. Jon himself had already decided he would go with her.  
She had asked him, on Dragonstone, how she would keep her promises if she lost her men in his war. She had lost around a tenth, maybe even a quarter, of them in the war with the dead.  
He knew that he alone could not fill that void in her forces, and that she had not demanded his fealty. Regardless, it was hers.  
He had been angry at his people. They’d crowned him their king, yet could not respect his decisions, could not respect the allies he’d brought with him to save them. He’d missed his father...his uncle...Lord Stark...so much, so achingly, and during those days before the battle, he had deeply wished that he could have a conversation with him.  
Ned Stark would have been able to communicate to his people the immediate need for assistance. He would have been able to tell them how little honor there was in blatantly disrespecting an ally who their king had secured to save them.  
After the long night, he had known he would follow her into battle. He would not command his men to follow her, and he’d felt a desolate emptiness in knowing he could not offer her that support.  
So when his first officer asked if he could go, Jon had gratefully assured him that they would go together. Then as the rest of the men heard this, they’d all come forward to join Jon in marching South as well.  
He was finally able to tell Dany that the North would help her. That after all, his people were not utterly selfish children. That they would not forget what she’d done for them. That yes, the North remembers.  
He had seen on her face such surprise as she absorbed this information, that he felt suddenly, dismally, that he had failed her up until that moment.  
But truly, he hadn’t been free to offer her anything before that. Northerners were so stubborn it was a wonder they would choose a king at all. And they had hated her father, fought to defeat him.  
He thought now of all the things he’d wanted to show her. The lights that would appear over the water at White Harbor. The Godswood. All the beautiful places here in the North, and all the places where he’d played as a child. He’d wanted her to meet Ghost, his beloved Direwolf.  
The revelation of his identity had sent him reeling. It had taken from him the one thing in the world he’d taken for himself in the cold miserable landscape of death and fighting that had been his life for years.  
She’d loved him when she’d thought him a bastard and she’d loved him when she’d found he was her nephew. Her love was not a fragile, brittle thing that would break or bend or crumble under the pressure of such matters.  
Before he’d met her, he had heard of course that she was beautiful, but he’d known that songs and stories always made their subjects into impossibly beautiful, otherworldly beings. So he had expected she would be beautiful, but no song or story had prepared him for the exquisite creature that he’d met that day at Dragonstone. The most obsequious of descriptions had not done her justice.  
She was younger than he’d expected as well, and much smaller.  
She’d seemed almost fragile, until she’d spoken.  
He smiled, thinking about her commanding, imperious little face, her fierceness. Her actions in the battle. A warrior queen, made of pure strength. Tensile and unyielding. Yet she had lain naked in his arms, shuddering and trembling in ecstasy, utterly vulnerable, and his.  
And then, after making his own name, despite a lifetime of intrinsic shame, the Bastard of Winterfell, the knowledge had crashed into his life that, no, he was not a bastard. He was her nephew. Her blood. And he’d dishonored both of them by having her as he had.  
He’d pulled away from her then, because he knew if he didn’t, he would be pulled toward her, and he would never be able to pull away at all.  
She didn’t care about their relation, not in regard to their love.  
Isn’t that what Targaryens do? Sansa had snapped at him.  
But Sansa was right. It’s what Targaryens had always done, so of course Daenerys wouldn’t see this the same way he did.  
And now she thought he didn’t love her.  
Ridiculous, he thought angrily, pushing his horse to ride harder, faster.  
Gods, he loved her. But he knew well that it would be dangerous to tell her how much, that never in his life had he come across any person with that much power, imbued with so vast a compassion, so much so that she would compromise that power and her own safety, to rescue the lives of strangers who treated her like an enemy, like the dirt under their feet. If he told her, she would somehow convince him that their relation didn’t matter. She’d almost convinced him that night, furiously telling him of other marriages in Westeros that had been made among relatives.  
Born of an unbroken line of inbreeding, how could she not take offense at his stance in he matter?  
His attitude must have seemed a rejection of her very existence.  
How could he tell her that his love for her had permeated his entire being? That her honor and kindness and strength and bravery would have earned his admiration regardless of any other factor? That he was etched forever with the feel of her body against his? That her smile made him weak, and even her rages set his blood on fire? How could he tell her these things, and then dismiss their love as an abomination, without the implication that she herself and all the generations of blood that went into her existence, were also an abomination?  
And what of himself? Wasn’t his father born of the same line she was? If she was an abomination, he was too.  
He hated to hurt her, and he knew he had. He had broken her heart and was honored that she’d given it to him at all. He felt sick knowing he should have to break a gift such as this.  
He rode his horse back to Winterfell. People would be stirring now, and maybe he could discuss it with Lord Tyrion. If there was anyone left alive in the world who knew how to talk about a difficult topic, it was Tyrion.  
He entered the stable, and the hands came forward to take his horse.  
He walked around the courtyard of his home, and smiled as he saw Arya loosing arrows at the targets in their training grounds.  
“Good morning,” he called to her, and she grinned and walked over to him.  
“Good morning to you,” she said. “You’re up early.”  
He laughed. “Up late, really. I barely slept.”  
“Are you all right?”  
“Aye, I’m all right.”  
She studied his face. “No you aren’t. What’s wrong?”  
He looked at her and saw only concern and love in her face. He sighed. “I love her.”  
“She loves you.”  
“And I’m her nephew.”  
Arya nodded. “So you don’t want her.”  
“I want her. But we can’t-“  
“You could.”  
“It feels wrong.”  
“Did it feel right before you knew?”  
He nodded. “It did. But now I do know...and it feels different.”  
“You can’t do something that doesn’t feel right. But does it really feel wrong? Or is it just that you think it’s wrong because it’s what we were taught?”  
He frowned. “What do you mean?”  
“I mean, if Rhaegar Targaryen won Robert’s Rebellion you might have grown up together, and might’ve gotten married anyway.”  
At her words, Jon felt as if he’d been punched in the chest.  
Would they?  
If he’d grown up in the Red Keep with her, would he have loved her as his blood or as his lover? Or did those lines blur in the family he’d never known?  
“Maybe,” he said, softly, wistfully. “Do you think it’s right?”  
Arya shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter what I think. It’s not my life, so...” she broke off.  
He saw Arya’s eyes narrow and he followed her gaze to a man who had carried garbage out from the kitchen entrance of Winterfell. He nodded at them and went back inside.  
“Who is that?” Arya asked, and her voice sounded tense.  
“Calls himself Derrock, I think,” Jon said.  
“You don’t believe that’s his name?”  
Jon hesitated. A lot of people had poured in from the North before the long night. Jon didn’t remember seeing him come in with them, but he knew he’d missed a few. But something about the man...  
“I don’t trust him. He has a look about him. Tells. He’s lying and I don’t know why.”  
“I don’t trust him either,” Arya said.  
“I’ll talk to him.”  
“Let me know when you do. I’d like to be there.”  
He nodded. “We’re having a war council today before Daenerys leaves for Dragonstone. After that. I’ll come get you.”  
“Thank you.”  
They went inside to break their fast, and ate in silence, lost in thought. 

************************************

Tyrion was awake early. They were leaving for Dragonstone today. He couldn’t banish the hard ball of anxiety that had formed in his stomach. The city was being emptied, Ser Davos had told them about a little known route that would be difficult, but possible to lead people through. It had to be slow, or Cersei might notice, her men might notice, and put a stop to it.  
Daenerys had wanted to move the people in the most danger first. Those closest to the Keep. But Tyron and Varys had pointed out that this might alert Cersei, that moving them first would mean Cersei’s men finding empty houses. If she caught them too soon, fewer lives would be saved.  
The little queen was not happy about it, but she accepted it. They would attack Kings Landing in the next day or two, once they had more information.  
Tyrion walked now through the courtyard with Jaime. It could be moons before he would see him again.  
“So you’re staying here at Winterfell,” Tyrion said.  
“Yes. I can’t help Cersei. But I can’t raise arms against her. And...” he broke off.  
“And Ser Brienne of Tarth is here,” Tyrion noted.  
Jaime turned to him sharply, and was about to attempt denying that the blonde knight was a factor in his decision, but when he met Tyrion’s eyes, his own softened into a slight smile.  
“Yes. Ser Brienne is here.”  
Bronn approached them from across the courtyard. “Harrenhal is haunted,” he told them. Tyrion and Jaime laughed.  
“You don’t really believe that?” Jaime asked.  
“Whether or not I believe it, a lot of people do. Gonna be hard to get people to serve in a haunted castle.”  
“What are you getting at, Bronn?” Tyrion asked.  
“I’m getting at, I’d prefer a castle that isn’t haunted.”  
Jon started to approach them, swiped suddenly by his red haired wildling friend. Tormund, Tyrion remembered.  
He laughed, and then continued toward them.  
He greeted Jaime and Bronn, then fixed his eyes on Tyrion.  
“Lord Tyrion...before you go, I wanted to ask you about something,” he said. He looked uncomfortable.  
“Of course, Your Grace,” Tyrion agreed.  
Jon’s eyes fixed on a man rushing out of the kitchen door. The man hurried to the stable, and emerged a moment later on a horse, riding out of Winterfell.  
“What the hell was he doing here?” Bronn asked.  
“Do you know him?” Jaime asked.  
“His name is Derrock, I think,” Tyrion said.  
“Derrock,” Bronn chuckled. He turned to Jaime. “You don’t remember him?”  
“Should I?”  
“Maybe not, now I think of it. He arrived after you’d left.”  
Tyrion looked sharply at Bronn. “Arrived where?”  
“In Kings Landing. He went to see your sister.”  
Jon stared at Bronn for a moment, then ran to the stable, and rode out of Winterfell. Tormund frowned, then he too mounted his horse and rode after his friend.  
“I should go check on the queen,” Tyrion said. He turned and walked to the main house.

This had been the day.  
In her vision, Daenerys had flown into Kings Landing, taken it in under an hour. She could remember the rage when she saw how fast it had been. How easy. Her heartbreak that all those she’d loved had died in vain.  
In her vision, she had rained down fire on innocent people who had surrendered.  
In her vision, she’d been murdered. Today.  
Daenerys had spent most of the morning planning. They’d gotten no further in figuring out what to do about Jon’s claim. He’d insisted he didn’t want it so many times that she was forced to believe it. But she knew well that didn’t matter, not if her detractors wanted him on the throne.  
She’d firmly decided she would worry about that another time. After the war. Now she had to save the people she’d burned in her vision. The people who had kept packages because they’d had her family sigil on them. The people being murdered. She’d been so caught up in planning she’d forgotten to break her fast, and was feeling light headed. She walked to the kitchen to get some broth to bring back to her room.  
She had noticed now, since Jon had said the North would follow her into battle, that people weren’t looking at her with the coldness, the anger and suspicion they had when she’d first arrived. They greeted her when they saw her, their faces had lost any enmity they’d had. How had she not noticed? She wondered if she was the most selfish person in the world.  
Maybe Jon would be a better ruler, she thought sadly, and wondered if he’d ever done a selfish thing in his entire life.  
She took her broth, thanked the kitchen workers, and went back to her room, going over the maps and books, drinking the hot liquid. They’d given her some bread too, and she nibbled at it absently.  
Lord Tyrion entered the room, smiling as he saw her bent over her materials. He exhaled deeply, as if relieved.  
“Are you all right?” She asked.  
“Fine, Your Grace,” he said. “Not a moment’s rest, I see,” he noted.  
She laughed. “When this is over, we’ll rest. When we can be sure people aren’t being murdered for wanting to feed their children. And you will be given whatever reward you like.”  
Tyrion sat down beside her as she finished her broth. “You have rewarded my belief in you. In every imaginable way. Exceeded all my...are you all right?”  
She felt suddenly as if the blood had drained from her head.  
I didn’t reward you in my vision, She thought. I crushed your belief in me.  
She tried to stand. She had felt the crushing waves of guilt, of rage, of sadness, at her actions, at her losses, and at the betrayals of those she’d trusted, for the moons since her vision, but this was different. This was physical.  
Her legs felt weak, and her stomach started to clench violently. She leaned against the back of the chair, gripping it. This was not the same knotting of fear she’d had since her vision.  
“Your Grace, what’s wrong?” Tyrion asked. His voice sounded frantic now.  
The door was thrown open, and Sansa rushed into the room.  
“Bran said not to drink your broth,” she said, urgently. “It’s poisoned.”  
“Already...” Dany managed, and her legs buckled.  
“I’ll get Maester Wolkan,” Sansa said. There were more voices, shouting.  
Tyrion’s hand rested against her throat, his fingers searching for her heartbeat. “Your Grace?” His voice was shaking, tinged with panic.  
She tried to move, but terrible pain was burning in her belly.  
She heard Ser Jorah’s voice.  
“What happened to her?” He demanded. She felt herself being lifted, and the warmth of Jorah’s arms and body holding her were comforting.  
“I think she was poisoned...” Tyrion’s voice broke off.  
“Stay with us, Khaleesi,” Jorah urged her, and she could hear his fear.  
“Trying,” she whispered.  
She felt cold. Colder even than that morning after the fight for the dawn. She was shivering, and her stomach was still twisting, it was unbearable. She was lain onto her bed, and Maester Wolkan’s voice cut through the room, telling Tyrion and Jorah to move so he could get to her.  
His hands were on her now, checking her pulse, her breathing. The room was fading. She heard some piece of a sentence, something about a fever.  
How could I have a fever? It’s so cold.  
Then darkness descended over her. 

Tyrion watched Jorah sit on the bed next to Daenerys after Maester Wolkan had left the room. He had said he’d be back with milk of the poppy but Daenerys had weakly insisted that she didn’t want to take it from injured soldiers.  
Jorah and the Maester had exchanged looks, and Jorah had murmured to bring it anyway, he’d get it into her.  
They sat now quietly, Jorah stroking Daenerys’s hair and looking into her face in despair, Tyrion sitting across from them.  
Daenerys was sweating, shivering, drifting in and out of a light sleep, waking every few minutes, doubling over and shivering again. Maester Wolkan had said that her symptoms looked like the effects of poisoning with Tears of Lys. Tyrion had seen the same horror on Jorah’s face that he’d felt himself. Victims poisoned with Tears of Lys died in agony, and Tyrion had never known anyone to survive it.  
Tyrion shuddered, drinking his wine.  
The door opened and Varys entered the room. “How is she?”  
Jorah turned, saw Varys, and shot across the room, grabbing Varys by his robe and pushing him against the wall.  
“Did you poison her?” Jorah demanded.  
Tyrion jumped up, trying to get between them.  
“Why would I poison her?” Varys asked him, his eyes wide.  
Jorah was enraged, and pushed him against the wall again. “Answer me,” he growled.  
“I didn’t,” Varys said breathlessly.  
Jorah was glaring at him. “You tried to have her poisoned before. When she was pregnant.”  
“And you were the one to tell me she was pregnant,” Varys pointed out. “That was a long time ago. Neither of us knew her.”  
“I know it was you,” Jorah said fiercely.  
“It wasn’t me,” Varys insisted. “I support her, you know I do.”  
“I know nothing of the kind,” He raged.  
Sansa entered the room, holding a bottle. “I brought the milk of the poppy,” she said softly, then her eyes widened when she saw Jorah and Varys. “What are you doing?”  
“He poisoned her,” Jorah stated.  
“I didn’t,” Varys repeated.  
“It wasn’t him,” Sansa said. “Bran said Cersei sent an assassin.”  
Jorah turned to her. “Where is he? Does Bran know?”  
“Jon went after him.”  
Jorah reluctantly released Varys. “I’ll want to see him.” He said, then sat back down on the bed with Daenerys.  
Sansa laid the bottle on the table by the bed, then looked at Daenerys. “Do you need help getting her to take it?”  
“She won’t take it,” Jorah said. “She doesn’t want to take it from the soldiers. I’ll have to do it slowly.”  
Sansa nodded. “I tried to get here before she drank the broth,” she said.  
Jorah glanced at her. “Tyrion told me,” he said.  
“If...when she wakes up, please tell her. I tried to get here.”  
Jorah nodded. “I’ll tell her.”  
Missandei rushed into the room, immediately going to the bed. Jorah moved so she could sit by Daenerys. He walked to the fireplace, staring blankly at the flames. He looked as if he were on the edge of madness.  
Sansa nodded at Tyrion and left the room.  
Tyrion sat back down heavily, drinking more wine. Cersei had sent an assassin.  
I should have known, Tyrion thought. Of course his sister would try to murder his queen. The queen he was trying to put onto the throne where Cersei sat.  
And he’d failed Daenerys. He hadn’t warned her of this possibility. And he had been the one to write the letter that had told Cersei their position. He felt sick.  
He thought about what Daenerys had told him about her vision. She’d said that Lady Olenna was dead by now in her vision. That Ser Jorah was dead. Her dragon Viserion. The dragon Tyrion had ridden.  
Tyrion knew that the losses of Lady Olenna and Viserion had been due to his own plans. Plans she had decided to change.  
Yet she’d kept him as her Hand. She’d allowed him to ride her dragon. Even after he’d written the letter, and she knew about it.  
He could remember well that day she’d named him her Hand. It was one of the happiest and proudest moments in his life. She’d chosen him for his merit, for his mind. Not because of his wealth, that had been long gone when he’d met her. Not because of his name. Maybe in spite of it.  
She’d convinced him to ride her dragon. The trust she’d have to have for him, to share her child with him, humbled him utterly. And he knew those days practicing, flying on Viserion, were incomparable to anything he’d ever experienced.  
And yet, he’d allowed her to be poisoned.  
I didn’t know she’d be poisoned, he thought. He thought she’d be safe here. He’d been sure of it. But this was his fault. He had told Cersei where they were, he thought again.  
Had she been poisoned in her vision? She’d told him she was betrayed and murdered.  
Had it been Varys to poison her? She hadn’t told him any details. Maybe she’d told Jorah, he thought. The man had seemed certain it was Varys. And Varys had just found out about Jon’s birthright.  
He wouldn’t, Tyrion thought, following her had been his idea.  
He glanced at Varys, who was still standing against the wall where Jorah had pushed him. He was watching Daenerys, his face tense.  
He caught Tyrion staring at him.  
“I’ve sent a raven to Dorne,” Varys said to Tyrion. Jorah and Missandei both looked at him now. “They are very knowledgeable about poison. I don’t think there’s an antidote for Tears of Lys, and that’s what Maester Wolkan said this is. But if there is one, they’ll have it and send it. Please let me know about her condition.” He turned then and left the room, and Tyrion followed him.  
“Varys,” he began as he entered Varys’s chamber behind him. “Did you poison her?”  
Varys turned to him sharply. “You think it was I who poisoned her?”  
“I’m asking.”  
“No. It wasn’t me. I’m not working for Cersei. And I’m frankly a little offended that you of all people would think-“  
“She said that if someone wanted Jon on the throne they’d murder her to make it happen.”  
Varys sighed. “I won’t say I hadn’t thought about him being the king. That he would be a good ruler. There can be no doubt of it. And if she hadn’t demonstrated that she too would be a good ruler, I wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever was in my power to protect the realm.”  
Tyrion glared at him. “You’d murder her.”  
“I would. If it meant protecting the people. But she saved the Tyrells. She smuggled food to the people during her own siege. We advised that this might even compromise her victory, but she did it anyway. She came here to save the North, without demanding or even asking them to pledge fealty to her. Her battle strategy saved thousands. She questions herself when she’s alone, she wants to protect the people. She surrounds herself with advisors who will tell her when she’s wrong. I see no cause to murder her. She will be a good ruler. And Bran Stark said it was Cersei. I don’t work for Cersei.”  
Tyrion sat down heavily. “I should have known this would happen.”  
“I should have known. It was my job to know.”  
“You told me this could happen. I should never have sent that letter.”  
“But once you did, I should have kept antidotes around. I should have warned her. Once she knew you’d written to Cersei, we should have advised her to be cautious. To get a taster.”  
They sat in silence for a moment.  
“She had plans,” Tyrion finally said softly. “She had ideas that I think would have helped heal our broken continent. I believed in her. I think she would have made the world a better place.”  
“She’s not dead.”  
“I’ve never heard of anyone surviving a poisoning with Tears of Lys,” he said miserably.  
“I’ve rarely heard of anyone walking into fire and surviving. That’s uncommon even in her family. I’ve never heard of anyone hatching dragons from petrified eggs. She seems to do the impossible regularly. She may survive this.”  
“But she may not. And if I hadn’t talked her out of storming Kings Landing moons ago this would not have happened.”  
“But thousands of people would have died.”  
“Maybe not. The plan she went over in the library won’t harm a single innocent...and its because of me that Cersei knew she was here.”  
“This is the fault of Cersei and no one else. It’s not your fault this happened. If Dorne has any kind of antidote, they’ll send it right away. I wish I’d prepared for this,” he repeated. “I could have had it already.”  
Tyrion sighed. “I know my sister. I know how she thinks. How vicious she is when she feels cornered. If I’d realized this would happen, I could have saved her.”  
“She’s not lost yet. If we can save her, we will.”  
“If she dies...everything is lost.”  
“We will endeavor to prevent that.”  
“The time for that endeavor was before she drank poison. I didn’t even warn her.”  
“Lord Tyrion, your self deprecating is not going to help her. I have every reason to believe that there are ways to help her, but this is not one of them.”  
Tyrion nodded. “Thank you,” he said softly, and walked to the chambers the Starks had given to his brother.  
He believed, wanted to believe, that the man who’d ridden off, with Jon right behind him, was the one who’d poisoned Daenerys. But he’d had to ask Varys.  
And now he had to ask Jaime. And he hoped and dreaded the answer.  
He could never inform on his brother. And then Daenerys would never get justice.  
He could hear her dragons outside, roaring as if they knew something was wrong, that their mother had been harmed.  
He knocked on Jaime’s door.  
It opened a moment later. “You again?” He said, smiling affectionately. He opened the door wider, allowing Tyrion to enter, and peered into his face. “What happened?”  
“Jaime...” Tyrion’s voice was low, almost a plea. “Jaime, you didn’t poison her. Did you?”  
“Poison who?”  
“Daenerys.”  
“Of course not. I don’t want her to kill Cersei. But I’m not going to...” he stopped. “Tyrion, did someone try?”  
Tyrion sat down and Jaime poured them both some ale.  
“I don’t have wine,” he explained.  
Tyrion looked distastefully at the brew then drank.  
“Someone poisoned her today. I’m guessing it was that man we saw riding off. Bran said Cersei had hired an assassin. That Jon went after him. But I wanted to be sure.”  
Jaime sighed. “You thought I would kill your queen?”  
“I think love is powerful, Jaime. And if you thought she might kill Cersei...”  
He looked at Jaime, waiting for anger. But there was none, only a kind of sympathy.  
“Is she...”  
“She’s alive. But Maester Wolkan said it looked like Tears of Lys. So...” his voice trailed off.  
“I’m sorry, Tyrion.”  
Tyrion drank the ale in silence. 

Jon and Tormund returned to Winterfell, dragging the man they’d caught. Jon was filled with an icy rage. Why would one of Cersei’s men be here? Arya had said the man was following Daenerys around. Once they saw to the man’s capture, leaving him in a room he could not escape, Jon would find Dany, he vowed to himself. Her dragons were perched on the roof of Winterfell, roaring. Jon secured the man, who laughed coldly up at him.  
“It’s too late,” he told him.  
Jon glanced at Tormund. “I have to get to Dany.”  
Tormund nodded. “Go ahead, find your woman. I’ll keep my eye on this fucker.”  
Jon rushed to Dany’s room.  
He was immediately weakened by relief to see she wasn’t covered in blood or missing limbs, until he noticed the expression on Ser Jorah’s pale face, staring into the fire.  
Dany seemed to be sleeping. Missandei was sitting next to her on the bed, stroking her hair. She had been crying, Jon saw, his dread mounting.  
“Is she all right?” He asked them.  
“She was poisoned,” Ser Jorah said, his voice hoarse.  
Jon stepped closer to the bed, his mind racing. She was pale, sweating, shivering slightly.  
He sat on the opposite side of the bed from Missandei, needing to be close but not wishing to disturb Missandei, who hadn’t moved.  
“Dany,” he called to her softly.  
Dany’s eyes fluttered open, and fixed on his face. She smiled faintly.  
“Another delay,” she muttered and fell back to sleep.  
Jon was shaking, he realized. “I’ll be back soon,” he told Dany, leaning over and kissing her hot forehead.  
He walked toward the room where they’d secured the prisoner. He saw Arya, who had seen him come in. She’d caught up with him and was walking with him.  
“You heard what happened,” she said.  
“Aye,” he said. She followed him. She could feel his need for silence and said nothing.  
They passed Varys and Tyrion, who saw Jon and fell into step behind him.  
“You caught him?” Tyrion asked.  
“I caught him,” he responded tersely.  
They entered the room where the prisoner was being held, and he grinned at them.  
“You see?” He said. “Too late.”  
“Cersei sent you,” Jon said coldly.  
“I think you know I’m not going to answer you.”  
“What did you give her?”  
“Again, Your Grace. Not going to answer you.”  
“Bran said Cersei sent him. He gave her Tears of Lys,” Arya supplied, leaning against the wall, as if waiting to see if Jon would need her assistance.  
“Your foreign whore will be dead soon. Hopefully not too soon, I wouldn’t want to have it be quick,” the man said tauntingly.  
He may have said something else. Jon didn’t know, he was seized with an uncontrollable rage, and he dove at the man, punching him until he went limp and silent.  
He stood, glancing at the faces around him. A few of his men stood in the doorway.  
“Cut off his head and send it to Cersei,” Jon said. He almost didn’t recognize his own voice, cold and devoid of any emotion.  
As his men moved toward the dead poisoner, Arya stepped forward. “Wait,” she said. Her voice sounded cold as well. “I have a better idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest assured I am definitely not going to have Dany die in this story. But trying to think what Cersei would do in a situation where her allies are turned against her and having no resources, that just seemed like what she would do.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter, just to look in on what’s happening with Cersei. I hope you enjoy it! As always, comments, suggestions and feedback are welcome and deeply appreciated!   
CW for some dirty language and implication of questionable medical practices as per Qyburn.

Chapter Ten

Cersei did not like to be kept waiting.   
Of course, it was necessary.   
She could not expect the man she’d sent to rid her of that silver haired bitch to be back right away. But he’d not sent a raven either, not about his failure or success, or about the ridiculous claim by Tyrion that dead men were marching on Winterfell. Ludicrous, of course, and Jaime had foolishly decided to go North.   
“If he’s telling the truth, we’ll die. Our baby will die.”  
“And if he’s lying-“  
“If he’s lying he won’t hurt me. Maybe you’re right to send no armies, if it’s a trap, but-“  
“What armies?” She’d demanded coldly. “The dragon whore has robbed us of our allies, cleared out Highgarden, so we can’t pay the Iron Bank. She’s murdered Euron Greyjoy.”  
“I think Yara Greyjoy may have been the one to-“  
“She burned his fleet with her monsters at any rate,” she snapped. “And how can you be sure our demon brother won’t hurt you? He killed our father.”  
Jaime had sighed. “He must know how insane this sounds. I don’t think he would say it unless it were true.”  
“You are the stupidest Lannister,” she told him.  
And he’d left. Left her alone to wage a war by herself, while he went to fight dead things at Winterfell.  
She’d sent Ser Bronn to kill them both, Jaime and Tyrion, but she knew he wouldn’t. The man had been a friend to both of them. She wanted Jaime to know she had not forgiven him.   
But what if the sellsword had gone through with it? She shuddered.  
Worse, she’d almost died when the baby came, far too early.  
In her weakness, she’d wept, and told Qyburn that if the baby died, he’d best let her die too.  
Qyburn had assured her in his soft, comforting voice that neither of them would die.  
And so they hadn’t.   
The tiny girl she’d birthed was frail, weak, but very much alive.  
She would not let the wet nurses near her, she vowed. No, this girl she would feed at her own breast.  
She’d named the babe Joanna after the mother her evil little brother had murdered coming into the world.   
She walked to the babe now, lifting her and holding her close. The only thing in the world that mattered now, this tiny squalling bundle, and if she had to burn the world to protect her, she would.   
Qyburn had found every cache of wildfire left by Mad Aerys. This city would crumble before that foreign whore would take it.   
By now, the cunt might already be dead, Cersei reminded herself, and she was feverish with impatience.   
Once the would-be usurper was disposed of, Cersei knew, her ridiculous motley horde of foreigners would disband, her dragons would turn wild, and the Seven Kingdoms would once again be her own.  
The North and their foolish bid for independence would easily be crushed, Cersei thought in satisfaction. She would give the fertile Reach to someone loyal to her.   
Starve the North or poison every one of them.   
She was the queen. Not a wife to fall behind some fat wastrel king, not a mother to obey her sons. No, the power was her own now, and no one would ever take it from her again.   
“It will be yours, my love,” she promised the tiny girl in her arms. 

Qyburn entered the room where his queen paced anxiously. He was holding a cup of tea he’d brought to calm her. She’d been increasingly agitated in the last few days.  
“Anything?” She demanded.   
“No whispers yet, Your Grace.”  
“What if Tyrion was telling the truth?” She said, looking out at the city. “What if they’ve all been swallowed up by some dead army?”  
Her voice was edged with hysteria.  
“I’ve brought you some tea, Your Grace.” He handed her the steaming cup.  
“I don’t want tea, I want answers,” she hissed.  
“Of course,” he said, “and we’ll have those answers soon.”   
She sipped at the tea as he carefully guided her to her bed.   
“Would they be like Ser Gregor, I wonder? This dead army?” She said, sipping at the tea.  
Qyburn wondered that as well. He was fascinated by the idea of a dead army. What animated them? The idea was that they lived by some magic. But surely there was a science to it?   
She sat down on her bed, still drinking the tea. He’d grown and gathered the herbs for her tea with his own hands. She didn’t trust anyone and she was wise in that. Qyburn didn’t trust anyone with his queen’s safety now either. He’d chosen ginger, saffron crocus, and mint, a little chamomile.   
Once she’d finished, she laid down and he pulled the blanket up around her. She was not accustomed to the cold that winter had brought to the usually warm Kings Landing.  
He watched his queen fall into a fitful sleep and hoped the herbs would soothe her.   
He had delivered the baby Joanna, and had saved Cersei from dying in childbirth.   
She would never worry about how many dying women he had studied, to figure out how to save one after childbirth. How many babies born too soon he’d seen, to learn to know how to make them live.  
Indeed, this woman was a rare treasure to him.  
None of the flaccid, tepid, moralizing whimperings about lives lost in his studies.   
How many men had killed thousands to save other men, in a brutal cacophony of violence?  
Yet it was him they judged.   
Not his queen. His queen understood the results his work had yielded.  
Indeed, the eyes of those who had seen the Mountain, had been full of censure, but not hers. Only gratitude and pride in her having chosen him when she saw her near-dead protector live again.  
Qyburn had worked out how to ignite the caches of wildfire under the city. They would ensure no enemy would be foolish enough to ever attack her again.  
For her sake, he hoped her brother lived and would return to her soon. She needed him. Qyburn had suspected she might begin to fall apart without him, but had not realized how much, how quickly.  
He watched the frown on her features begin to smooth over, then smiled as she relaxed in sleep.   
“Rest, my Queen,” he murmured tenderly.   
He stood at her room’s wide windows and looked out at the darkened city, at the candles lighting in windows below.  
It seemed every day fewer candles lit at night, and he wondered if people were leaving the city. He would have to check that in the morning. He could not have his queen’s people abandoning her.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you all so much for the comments advice and kudos!  
This chapter is people being upset at Winterfell and trying to make plans, and Arya heading towards Kings Landing.  
I hope you like it! Feedback is as always very deeply appreciated!

Chapter Eleven 

Jon had returned to Dany’s room.   
Arya had assured him she would see to the assassin’s body.   
The room was quiet. Only the sound of Dany’s shivering breaths, her occasional moan as she would toss and turn on the bed.  
Missandei was still sitting beside her, brushing her hair carefully, patiently starting at the bottom to untangle it. She braided it then.   
Tyrion was sitting across the room. He gripped a goblet and watched Dany breathing.   
For one horrific moment Jon had thought it was as she’d said, that someone had tried to murder her because of him.   
There was no relief knowing it hadn’t been that, because the sickening fear had swallowed it immediately.  
He watched her sleep. She would wake occasionally, look around the room, and fall back into sleep.   
Jorah had attempted to give her milk of the poppy, but for a woman dying, she’d somehow summoned a fierce strength and pulled away, shaking her head, pushing at the small bottle such that Ser Jorah had almost dropped it.  
He had started then to drop minuscule amounts into her mouth in between her waking. Jon watched him carefully. At some point he knew they couldn’t all be in her room. Jon wanted her guarded every minute now, and they would have to rotate. He would have to know how to get the liquid into her.   
At any given moment now, two Unsullied stood outside her door. But he wanted someone in her room as well.   
He felt helpless, and under that helplessness lurked a simmering rage.   
He had always hated the feeling of helplessness. He’d hated war, fighting, death. But worse, far worse, was the inability to act.   
To have to sit, watching Dany lay in pain, knowing any minute might be her last, and be unable to do anything. Not to keep her alive, not to stop the pain that wracked her body every few minutes. He felt the way Jorah looked-as though any minute he might descend into madness.  
Varys entered quietly, stood in front of him and murmured that Dorne had sent a raven.   
“They will send the fastest rider they have to deliver a potion, that might counteract the effects of the poison. It’s been used against various poisons-“  
“Tears of Lys?” Jon asked.  
“No, Your Grace, but it could work anyway. There are a lot of factors to consider, but she’s young, she’s healthy, and she’s very strong. It could save her.”  
“Thank you,” he said.   
He stood. Ser Jorah was still sitting in the same spot, unmoving, staring at Dany.   
“You’ll stay here, I’ll stay tonight. We have to make sure she’s not alone,” he told the knight who nodded without moving his eyes from Dany’s face. “I need to know if there are any changes.”  
He walked out of the room, shaking. He could hear some raised voices in the great hall, and he made his way to the room.   
Lord Glover had come, having heard that the battle with the dead had ended victorious.   
Sansa was not particularly inclined to forgive him.  
“Your disloyalty and cowardice have been noted, Lord Glover. This is the second time now that you’ve failed our House,” she said coldly, and a few cheers met her words.   
Jon sat down unsteadily.  
“I did not intend to fail your house, My Lady, but it was your house that brought foreign invaders to the North.”  
Jon glared at him, standing again. “If we hadn’t brought allies we would be dead,” he said bluntly.   
“Allies? You brought a Targaryen and her monsters. I saw them outside.”  
Jon commanded himself to remain standing where he stood, to fight the urge to rush across the room and run Glover through.  
“That Targaryen and her monsters helped us save the North, while you cowered in your house,” he said through gritted teeth.   
This was also met with some cheers, but Jon barely heard them.   
Glover’s face had twitched when Sansa had referred to his cowardice, but her being a woman had made the man cautious. He wasn’t cautious now, and he stood.   
Good, Jon thought. Come on. Do something.   
He waited, and Glover looked around the room, seeing he had no support from the faces around him. His own face hardened.   
“You betrayed the North by bringing her here.”  
“You betrayed the North by hiding instead of fighting as you promised.”   
“Was I to be expected to fight beside that Targaryen bitch and her army? A foreign horde she likely laid to get them to follow her across...” the words died on his lips as Jon walked toward him, his hand on the pommel of his sword. Glover began to shrink back as he saw the expression on Jon’s face.  
Suddenly Ser Davos’ hand was on Jon’s shoulder. “Your Grace,” he began, his voice gentle and bracing.  
“I think you should leave, Lord Glover,” Sansa’s voice slashed through the tension in the room. “You have disrespected our king and our allies. Take a last look around your home before your titles are stripped from you.”  
“How dare you-“  
“How dare you,” she flashed back. “Be glad your king doesn’t execute you for oathbreaking as he clearly wants to.”  
Jon watched Glover storm from the room, and fought the urge to follow him, to cut him down for daring to-  
“Jon!” Sansa was standing before him now, and he wondered how long he’d been frozen, in pulsating rage, staring at the door. “Let’s go talk,” she said, softly but urgently.   
He followed her reluctantly into the library, Ser Davos trailing them.  
“You were going to kill him.” Sansa’s voice was not accusing, but on the verge of it.  
“Aye, I’d have killed him,” Jon said, sitting down heavily and dropping his head into his hands. “I will, if he comes back, I swear by the old-“  
“Jon, you can’t murder anyone who insults her.”  
“I can and I will.”  
Sansa sighed. “I know this is a difficult time,” she began.  
“A difficult time?” Jon thundered. “That coward came into my home and insulted a woman who helped to save us all, a woman who put her life and her armies and her dragons at risk to save people who treated her like-“  
“Jon-“  
“And you treated her no better, Sansa.” She was silent, and he continued, the rage coursing through him like a fever. “You and everyone here, trying to freeze her out, trying to make her feel unwelcome, when all she did was come here to help us. Where is the honor in that, Sansa?”  
“Jon, everyone will hear you-“  
“I don’t care who hears me! I hope they do hear me! Every one of us would be dead if not for her, and-“  
Sansa’s cool facade shattered. “We didn’t trust her, Jon,” she stormed back. “We didn’t know her-“  
“You didn’t want to know her! You didn’t-“  
“But once we did know her, we weren’t freezing her out. You can ask...” she stopped.  
“What were you going to say Sansa? I can ask her?” His voice broke on the last word. He took a shaky breath and continued. “You say you didn’t trust her. Did you trust me? My judgment?”  
Sansa started to cry then, and Jon was torn between regret and incendiary fury.   
“I did trust you,” she said through tears that had sprang into her eyes and slid down her face. “But I trusted Robb, too. I trusted father. And we lost both of them. And I...I was scared, Jon, I didn’t want to...to lose you and everything we fought for. I’m sorry. I was wrong. I didn’t want to...to...”   
Jon softened then, pulling her into a hug.   
“I’m sorry,” she said again.   
He shuddered. He held her for a few minutes, trembling, then released her and sat back down.   
When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. “She was poisoned right here in our home, Sansa. If she’d never come here, it wouldn’t have happened. Dragonstone is an island, it’s easier for guards to see someone who doesn’t belong there. She didn’t have to come. Her men died for us and now she...” he broke off. He couldn’t say the words.   
“Lord Varys said there might be something that can help,” Sansa said.  
“But that’s not something we know yet. And she might...she might be gone before it gets here.”  
“I’m so sorry, Jon.”  
“I could have...well, I told myself I could have accepted it if she married another. It made me sick whenever I thought about it. But I could have accepted it, I could have tried to. To think she’d be happy. But this...I can’t accept this. I know I might have to. But I can’t.”  
Sansa nodded. “I understand. We’ve lost too much already.”  
“Aye, we have. But she wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t gone to her and asked her to come. By now she’d be sitting on that throne most likely, and instead she...” he shuddered, and stood. “I’m going back to her room.”  
Sansa squeezed his hand in silent support. 

He’d only told her he loved her that night he had rejected her.   
He could see clearly the hurt on her beautiful face, the tears shimmering in her eyes that she’d blinked back hoping he wouldn’t see them.  
When he’d come to her room, he had told the others that they would have to rotate their time, to make sure someone was alert and with her every moment. They’d agreed and reluctantly left.   
He was alone with her now, and he stroked her hair, wishing he had told her a thousand times that he loved her.   
“Can you hear me? Dany? I love you. You know that, don’t you? I love you.”  
Her eyes fluttered open briefly, met his, and she almost smiled. Then she winced, curled up against herself in sudden pain, and Jon was angry at himself for waking her.  
There was a thumping outside, shouting, and he went to the door. The two Unsullied guards outside were aiming their spears at Ghost, who in turn was growling at them.   
“It’s all right,” he told them wearily. “He’s mine.”  
They looked suspicious, but they let Ghost pass.  
Ghost bounded into the room and started to jump onto the bed, but stopped as if sensing it would cause pain.   
“Easy, Ghost,” Jon murmured, and the wolf curled up on the floor beside the bed.   
He sat down and ruffled Ghost’s fur.  
They both listened to her breathing now. He could hear the pain in it, and he wished he could take it from her.   
I should have had them meet sooner, he thought miserably.   
But no. He’d cut her out as if she were an infection when he found out about their relation. And now he was going to sit here and helplessly watch her die. The thought was devastating.   
He thought about the night they’d made the battle plans for the war with the dead.  
I’m not convinced the crypts are the best idea, she’d said calmly.   
Aye, and that alone had saved the lives of their women and children, who’d done their best to isolate her.  
He had sat and listened to her, staring at her in such admiration, such desperate longing.  
She’d turned that ethereal face toward him at the end of the war council, about to smile at him, and he’d nodded coldly.   
Your Grace, he’d said and walked away from her.  
Neither of us is alone, she’d said to him.   
Yet he’d left her alone, and if he could somehow go back, take back every minute of coldness of rejection, he would give his life to do it. He would hold onto her and tell her every minute of every hour that he loved her. So she would know it, feel it, all the way in her very bones and never forget it.   
He looked at the table, where she’d left some books, a map of Kings Landing, the bowl that had contained the deadly broth. A piece of bread with one bite taken from it, laid disconsolately next to the empty bowl.   
Near that, the bowl of stew and apple Sansa had brought in to him. She’d urged him to eat something, pointing out that he’d be no help to Daenerys if he dropped from hunger.  
He’d snapped at her angrily but he had to admit she’d made a point.   
He lifted the apple from the plate, and listened to Dany’s ragged, shivering breaths.   
He began to cut the apple, wondering if he could get her to eat some. But of course she kept flitting in and out of consciousness. What if she choked?   
Already he was hoping against hope that she would hold on long enough to be given the Dornish potion, already he was beating back a nauseating terror that it wouldn’t work, and her extra days in shivering pain would be for naught.   
He would not risk her choking.  
But they had to feed her. It preyed on his mind now. She might refuse broth after this, and he could hardly blame her for that.   
To his horror, her breathing suddenly stopped, and he turned to her sharply.   
She was awake, he saw, and staring at him in silent terror.   
“Dany,” he said softly. “It’s me, it’s Jon.”  
He moved toward her and she wrenched herself backward, wincing as the movement hurt her.   
“Dany?”   
She was staring at his dagger, he realized, her eyes fixed on it. She wasn’t even breathing.  
He laid the dagger on the table, holding up his hands. He started toward her again, and this time she pulled back so fiercely she fell off the bed.   
“Dany! What are you doing? I’m not going to hurt you! You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep-“ and as he carefully stepped toward her, she pushed herself into a corner, her eyes darting about the room, fixing on her sword at the other side of the bed, then back at him. She was shaking violently.  
The door opened and Ser Jorah entered. “It’s my shift. I’m a little early but-“ he cut himself off, and Jon could only imagine what it must look like, himself standing over Dany as she cowered terrified in the corner.  
“Get away from her,” Jorah growled, and Jon obeyed, more shaken by Dany’s sudden fear of him than any threat Ser Jorah might represent.  
He watched the knight approach, waiting for Dany to panic as Ser Jorah got close to her, but there was no panic. She saw Ser Jorah and began to weep in relief. He bent to lift her, and her arms wrapped around him. She was shaking with sobs now, and Jorah sat down on the bed, holding her until she fell asleep.   
“I don’t know what happened,” Jon said.  
“Keep that dagger out of here.”  
“You don’t think I would...”  
“It doesn’t matter what I think. Just keep it out of here and away from her.”  
Jon nodded weakly. Had he hurt her so badly? That in her fever, she would believe he would harm her?  
“You should go,” Jorah said, almost gently. “Get some rest.”  
Jon left the room without another word, Ghost padding behind him.   
He felt sick. The terror in her face, a face that had stared down a horde of dead, fearless, haunted him.   
Rest, he thought bitterly. He knew there was little chance of that. 

**********************************

Sansa nodded at the two guards posted outside Daenerys’ door. She showed them the book in her hand, her other hand empty.   
They let her pass, and she entered the room.  
Missandei had washed Daenerys and changed her bed clothes, and was braiding her hair. The room smelled of sandalwood and lemons now, and Missandei glanced coolly at Sansa.   
“I brought this book,” Sansa said softly. “I thought I’d read to her for awhile.” At Missandei’s suspicious look, she said, “I won’t hurt her. I just wanted her to hear the story. I told her about it before...”   
Missandei’s face softened. “She might like that.”  
But she didn’t leave the room. Instead she sat on a chair near the fireplace.   
Sansa sat on the chair nearest to the bed and started to read the story. Occasionally Daenerys would open her eyes and watch her. She was so pale, Sansa thought. Dark circles ringed her dulled eyes, and her full lips were dry and chapped.   
“Do you want some water?” She asked her. Daenerys shook her head, a shadow of fear crossing her face. “It’s just water...I’m not going to try to hurt you.” She took a deep breath. “I tried to get here before you drank the broth. I really did, I swear.”  
Daenerys was studying her.   
She’s beautiful, Sansa thought idly. Even pale and exhausted, she was exquisite. Was that how she’d gotten all those people to follow her? Sansa shuddered then. It was too much like what Glover had said, and she felt ashamed that she’d allowed herself to think that way.   
We’ve both known what it means to lead people who aren’t inclined to accept a woman’s rule, Daenerys had told her.  
It wasn’t her beauty, extravagant though it was.   
“I’m sorry I was...cold to you. When you first got here.”  
Daenerys smiled faintly at her, and started to drift back into sleep.   
“Do you want some milk of the poppy?”  
Daenerys shook her head, and murmured “Missandei.”  
Sansa turned to Missandei, who smiled gently.   
“I gave her some before.”  
Missandei was beautiful as well, Sansa noted, and was angry at herself for not noticing sooner. She truly had viewed Daenerys and all her people as enemies, only noticing Daenerys’s beauty because of Jon’s attraction to her. She had feared Jon would suffer the same fate as Robb. She’d barely even looked at the people who had come with her.  
She went back to reading, and Daenerys occasionally opened her eyes again, only to close them minutes later.  
Jon had every right to be angry, Sansa thought.   
He’d brought a fierce ally to save them, and they had behaved like obnoxious children. Sansa knew enough to realize now, that her anger over the resources could have and should have been discussed privately. Even Cersei Lannister would have known to have a discreet conversation about that with her allies, rather than complain before her people about feeding soldiers who were crucial in a coming battle.   
Sansa had been angry and afraid, and had allowed herself to behave rudely, ungratefully, not like a proper leader. Worse, she’d done so in front of her people, encouraging them to do the same.  
She finished reading the book, and laid it on the table.   
“I suppose now it looks silly, doesn’t it? How I wanted a knight to come save me when I was younger...but maybe not to you. You have knights everywhere who would lay down their lives for you. Not because of your ancestors or because of your name. But for you.”  
Had she been jealous? Jealous that the silver haired queen had thousands of men, ready and willing to kill for her, to die for her, to live for her?   
Daenerys’s eyes opened and despite the clear exhaustion in them, they were fixed on Sansa’s face. “When you were away from Winterfell,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, “the people here sewed your family sigil into banners. Drank secret toasts to your health. Waited for your return.”  
Sansa looked at her sharply, then smiled, remembering their conversation. Their silly childhood stories. She almost laughed.   
“Thank you...for reading me the story...” Daenerys said softly.  
“I have other books. I’ll come read to you again.”  
Daenerys smiled again and fell back to sleep. 

*****************************************

Tyrion had been drinking all morning.   
He knew this would accomplish nothing. But it had always been his comfort and he saw no reason to stop now.  
He was planning to sit with Daenerys for a few hours. It was terrible to sit and watch her in pain, fragile, helpless.  
He felt as if he’d lost his dearest friend, and he was realizing now how much time he’d spent with her in the last few years.   
She’d been his main companion and truly had taken up most of his thoughts for all that time.  
Of course, that was to be expected, he was her Hand, after all, and was helping her plan an insurrection against the sitting monarch.   
If he’d been asked before this if he cared for her, he would have easily known he did, that he even loved her.  
But he’d underestimated perhaps how much he enjoyed her company. Not merely as a ruler, but as a friend.   
He had always found a certain commonality with people. He enjoyed talking. He enjoyed discourse.   
But in the last few days he’d not wanted to speak to anyone, save perhaps Jaime, and despite his brother’s patience and compassion, he wondered if he was straining that patience with his miserable musings, fraught with guilt and anguished fear.   
Jaime was enjoying his newfound love with Ser Brienne, Tyrion thought. He certainly did not need to sit and listen to his younger brother recount every failure and mistake that had led them to this moment.   
He sat in the mess hall, fortifying himself with the wine, so that he could go and sit with his queen and watch her as she slowly died, as poison ate away at her insides.   
Tyrion shivered a little, hearing her dragons outside, roaring for their mother.   
He saw Jon enter the mess hall and he looked so pale and drawn it would be easy to think perhaps he’d been poisoned too.   
He waved Jon over, and he approached, sitting down.   
Tyrion offered Jon some wine, and he shook his head.   
“You said you wanted to talk to me,” Tyrion said. At Jon’s blank stare, he added, “Before this happened.”  
“Aye, I remember now.”  
“What was it?”  
Jon shuddered suddenly. “I was an idiot.”  
“That’s what you wanted to discuss with me?”  
“I wanted to ask you...you’re good at talking to people. Good at explaining things. I thought you could help me explain...”  
“Explain what?”  
“How I could...could tell her that I love her. But that we can’t be together. Because of the relation between us. Without sounding like I...consider her existence shameful.”  
Tyrion frowned. “Do you?”  
“No! If not for her existence we would all be dead.”  
“Targaryens have always-“  
“Aye, I know what Targaryens have always done.”  
“And your mother’s parents-“  
“She mentioned that. And your parents too.”  
“She mentioned that?”  
“While I was rejecting her,” Jon said bitterly.  
Tyrion sighed. “You might not have to explain it,” he said dismally. Jon winced.  
“Aye,” he said, and his voice sounded heavy with regret. “It’s like I said, I’m an idiot.” That sat in silence for a few minutes, then Jon said, “she thought I would harm her.”  
“Harm her?”  
“I was cutting an apple with my dagger. She was terrified. Fell off the bed, curled up in the corner. I must have hurt her...so much.”  
“Tears of Lys can cause a fever,” Tyrion said. “She probably-“  
“She wasn’t afraid of Ser Jorah. He came in and I could see her relief. She was sobbing with it. He lifted her back onto the bed and she put her arms around him and she cried herself to sleep.”  
Tyrion absorbed that.   
I became everything I’d fought against, and then I was betrayed and murdered, she’d told him.   
But she’d never told him who had murdered her. Had it been Jon? If she’d become ‘everything she’d fought against’...what had she done?   
He couldn’t possibly know, but he knew well the things she’d fought, and if she suddenly decided that was what she wanted to do, it would be impossible to stop her.  
But of course, he knew, it could just be the fever. Jon had broken her heart. He knew that, he’d seen her that night, her face streaked with tears.   
“Keep in mind, she was poisoned recently. I imagine her level of trust might be compromised,” Tyrion said.  
“Ser Jorah-“  
“Ser Jorah has been by her side for years,” Tyrion pointed out.   
Jon nodded thoughtfully.   
Tyrion stood, lifting his goblet and the wine jug. “I’m going to go see her.”  
“I’ll be there a little later. I can’t keep telling people to rest if they want to guard her and then make no attempt at it myself.”  
“True.”  
Tyrion walked toward Daenerys’s room. He knew Jon would be unable to rest, just as he himself had been.   
He nodded at the guards and entered. Daenerys was asleep, and Randyll Tarly was sitting on the chair beside her bed.   
Tyrion tried not to show his surprise, but Tarly caught it.  
“I am not here to harm her, Lannister. I’ve bent the knee to her, and have already had to answer to a dozen men to prove I only wish to guard my queen like the rest of you.”  
MY queen, is it? Tyrion thought, but lifted his hands placatingly. “I was surprised. That’s all.”  
“Your sister is a coward,” Tarly spat, and Tyrion poured more wine.   
“Among other things,” he agreed.  
“To poison an enemy because she’s too craven to fight her-“  
“I hope you aren’t trying to convince me, Tarly. I bent the knee to our queen long before you did.”  
“This has to be avenged. Cersei can’t get away with-“  
“We will avenge her,” Tyrion assured him. He’d already received ravens from Ellaria Sand and from Yara Greyjoy.  
If there had been any chance before, for Cersei to survive this war, if the compassion that dominated Daenerys would have allowed Cersei to be exiled rather than executed, that was forfeit now.   
Daenerys moaned something unintelligible, and Tarly leaned closer to her.   
“What was that, Your Grace?” He asked her.   
She shook her head and turned over in the bed.   
“Does she have a will?” Tarly demanded, turning back to Tyrion.  
“A will?”  
“Has she named an heir?”  
“I...don’t think so.”  
Tarly sighed impatiently. “She needs to have one. Her armies are united by her, not by any institution. If we are going to avenge her, they’ll want someone to rally behind.”  
“I hope you don’t think they’ll rally behind you,” Tyrion said critically.  
“Has the wine addled your brain, imp? I wasn’t thinking of me. Seven hells. I don’t know how you became known as the smart one in your family.”  
“Have you met the rest of my family?”  
“I’ve met your father. And I can tell you, your father would never have let this happen if he were her Hand. He’d have advised her to storm the city before anything else. She’d be on that throne already.”  
Tyrion deflated a little at that. “That’s true,” he said.   
“If she doesn’t name an heir, we’ll have chaos.”  
“We may have chaos anyway. She hadn’t won the throne yet.”  
“That doesn’t matter. Dorne, the Reach and the Iron Islands are with her, and have acknowledged her as queen. The Storm Lands are already in chaos. The North is independent, but they’ve agreed to ally with her in this war, and the Vale has declared for the North. In all likelihood the Riverlands will as well. They support her claim to the throne, so long as she upholds their agreement for independence. That leaves the Westerlands, and your brother Jaime is out of the war, and the Crownlands, which is the objective of the war. If our queen names an heir, the war can be fought to avenge her, and unseat your sister.”  
Tyrion frowned. He thought about Varys for a moment.  
Power resides where men believe it resides, he’d said.   
“How can I get her to name an heir, Tarly? Should I wake her up? Have her suffer, just so we can-“  
“Do you think she’d prefer a few minutes of suffering or the realm collapsing into chaos and never having justice served in her name? I’ve been learning of her exploits in Essos, and she seems quite fond of justice and not particularly unwilling to experience some pain to achieve it. You’re her Hand. Try to get her to make some kind of last will.”  
“Now that I’m here, I hope you realize that you don’t actually have to stay.”  
“As much as I crave the conversation of a drunken imp with the strategic capacity of a mushroom, I’m not here for you, Lannister.”  
“Her guards are outside. No one will harm her. If I’m going to start asking her to name an heir before she dies at the hands of my sister, she may already mistrust my motives. Having a former enemy who bent the knee to her a quarter of an hour ago might not be the best plan.”  
Tarly narrowed his eyes. “I’ll leave. But if she’s attacked while I’m gone and you’re here, I’ll take it up with you myself.”  
“Understood,” Tyrion agreed.  
Tarly left the room, and Tyrion sighed deeply. He was loath to wake Daenerys when she finally looked peaceful.   
“Your Grace?” He called to her softly. “Your Grace,” he repeated, a little louder now, and she started, turning to him.  
“May as well just call me by my name,” she murmured. “I’m not going to be able to win anything from this bed.”  
“Your Grace,” Tyrion said firmly, “we have to talk.”  
Fear leapt into her eyes. “Did something happen? Missandei...”  
“Missandei is fine. Everyone is fine. Except of course for the obvious.”  
“The obvious?”  
“We are mourning our queen...and friend.”  
She smiled faintly at that but tears sprang into her eyes. “Not dead yet,” she said.   
“Thankfully. And you may yet live. Varys is expecting a potion from Dorne that could save you.”  
“Varys? Varys wants to save me?”  
“He does. We all do. But of course we...we have to prepare.”  
“Prepare?”  
“If...if we can’t save you...if we lose you...you need to name an heir. Make a will.”  
“My heir should be obvious and I own no land to make up a will.”  
“You are the queen. We will avenge you. We will unseat my sister. But to do that, we need a will. Or the realm, most of whom has named you queen or declared allegiance for the war, will fall into chaos. You said you want to break the wheel.”  
“How can we make sure the wheel stays broken?” She said in the tone of a quote. She smiled weakly at him. “That’s what you said.”  
“What I said?”  
She nodded and was falling back to sleep. “Tonight,” she said. “Tonight I’ll do it. We need our advisors here.”  
“Our advisors?”   
“Mine and Jon’s.”   
She turned over and went back to sleep. 

****************************

The Kingsroad was overgrown in many places now, Arya had noticed. War and impending winter had not been kind. She wondered if she’d have been better off taking a ship for much of the way. It would have been faster. She wondered how quickly the journey could be made on a dragon. That caused a knot to form in her stomach as the next question rolled in; what happened to dragons who lost their rider? Jon and Tyrion had ridden Daenerys’s dragons into battle, but that had been at her request. And Jon might be a Targaryen, but dragons had been known to kill Targaryens who were not their own rider. He may not be in danger from them, but he might not exert any influence over them either.   
And even if he had, even if he’d developed some bond with Rhaegal, Drogon was easily the biggest and most dangerous.  
She remembered the skulls she’d seen in the cellars of Kings Landing. Drogon was certainly as large or larger than many of them. He wasn’t nearly so large as Balerion the Dread had been. But dragons grew as long as they lived, didn’t they? And Balerion had died at over two hundred years of age.   
Drogon had not a full ten years.   
How large would he grow?   
And it wasn’t as if Viserion and Rhaegal weren’t also dangerous.  
How angry would they be when their mother finally succumbed to the poison? They had been roaring on the rooftop of Winterfell when she had left.   
Arya wasn’t optimistic enough to believe that Daenerys would survive the poison. For all her walking through fire and hatching dragons, she was still a human being, and a human being could be killed, certainly by poison.   
Varys had said something about a potion from Dorne that might help, and Arya couldn’t help but to hope, just a little, that this would work.   
She hadn’t liked Daenerys Targaryen at first. She’d seemed imperious and cold. And Sansa hadn’t liked her either. Arya had just rebuilt the bond with her sister and she was eager to unite with her against a foreign invader.  
But once Sansa told her that Daenerys had promised to respect Northern independence, it became harder to dislike her.  
Seeing her sparring with Ser Jorah had softened her a little as well. The little queen was new at this, Arya had noticed this because of the practiced nature of her movements, they didn’t flow as with a seasoned swordsman. But she moved quickly, and had a natural grace and precision that suggested she could grow into being very skilled. She’d certainly impressed many of the men standing around watching.  
What had finally won Arya over, was Jon.   
Arya had ached for Jon in those days between returning home with his new allies, and the battle for the dawn. He’d done something he had every right to be proud of, secured allies to save his people and his home. His people should have celebrated him, thanked him for his efforts. Instead, the censure of his people had weighed on him, when he was carrying too much already.   
The night they had went over the battle plans, Arya had been annoyed when the little queen had told Jon that she must ‘speak frankly’.   
Until she actually began to speak.   
The annoyance had faded immediately.  
And then, the thing that had obliterated the last of Arya’s reservations, was the look on her face when Bran had suggested Jon might die in the battle.   
The queen was just a woman in love then, her eyes fierce as she declared that Jon would not die. Arya knew then they could share at least one purpose in absolute unity.   
Arya knew Jon loved her too, and she hurt for what he must be feeling now.  
She would hurry back to offer him what comfort she could, once this name, the first and last name, was finally crossed off her list. She wanted him to know he was her brother, no matter what else had happened. He would always be her brother.   
She entered an inn that had seen better days, and in the corner she could make out The Hound. She smiled, approaching him.   
“Well look who it is,” he growled at her. He didn’t look particularly happy to see her, but she knew he was, and she sat down.   
“Where are you headed?”  
“Kings Landing.”  
“Same,” she said, pouring herself some ale from the pitcher on the table.  
“I didn’t really want company.”  
“Neither did I.”  
She picked at the bread on the table, ordered more ale and food from the innkeeper.   
She hadn’t truly been sure she would ever see her old friend again. She wouldn’t say it, but she was glad that she did.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So in this chapter Dany sets up a will, A Girl visits Cersei, people have conversations.  
Your comments are AMAZING and inspiring and I appreciate the kudos. I love you all, seriously, you are so awesome!

Chapter Twelve 

Daenerys had washed, with Missandei’s help. Missandei had also washed her hair, and styled it into its usual intricate braids, then helped her into a dressing gown. She’d dabbed her favorite bitter orange oil into her neck. She was propped up on pillows in a sitting position, her head resting on Missandei’s shoulder. This might very well be her last council meeting, she thought sadly. She did not want to look as haggard as she felt.  
She wished Jon hadn’t told her in that other life that there was nothing after death.  
She could have comforted herself with thoughts of haunting Cersei as a vengeful spirit.   
But maybe he was wrong. Maybe there was some curtain that separated the memory of death from the memory of life?  
How many others had been in her vision, but none of them remembered. Only her and Bran.   
She drifted to sleep, hoping to rest before the others came in. Pain was slashing at her belly, and she couldn’t risk taking too much milk of the poppy, for fear she would sleep during her council.   
She’d been assured that there was more than enough for her to take some without leaving too little for the soldiers, but she still hesitated. And she was still afraid. In her vision, she’d been betrayed by so many.   
“Your Grace,” Missandei murmured to Dany.  
“Daenerys,” Dany corrected weakly.   
“Jon Snow is here,” she said. “He wants to speak to you.”  
Dany lifted her head, saw Jon standing across the room. He’d been more cautious about approaching her since that day with the dagger, and she was still a little embarrassed by it. The terror had been real. She had thought he might kill her.  
“I was hoping to get some rest before we begin,” she told him, her voice frail. She was angry that she couldn’t force more strength into it.  
“Dany, you don’t have to do this,” he told her.  
She sighed. “You’re probably right. I’ve not won the throne, I don’t see why my final wishes should be recorded. But Lord Tyrion said that-“  
“That’s not what I mean. Varys sent for a potion that might-“  
“Might. And might not. Or I may be dead by the time it gets here.”  
“It just feels like you’re giving up.”  
She laughed bitterly. “I’m trying to be realistic. And to do what I can to preserve peace as much as possible.”  
“Please Dany...”  
She flinched at his words as if he’d slapped her, assaulted by the memory of a desolate ruined throne room, ashes and snow falling around them. She shook the memory from her mind. “Please...what?” She asked him. “What is it you think I can do? Live by a sheer act of will? I’m trying, Jon. But I’m tired. And I don’t know how much time I have.”  
“You said you have promises to keep. If you die...”  
Her eyes fixed on his. “If I die you will keep my promises.”  
His face seemed to crumble, though he kept his eyes on hers. “Aye. I’ll keep your promises.”   
“Thank you. I...I’m glad you’re here. Now that you are. I have this ring.” She held up her hand. “It was my mother’s. It’s all we had left of hers, Viserys and I. If I die, I want you to have it. If you ever have daughters. It will stay in our family’s line.”  
Jon’s mouth moved in a shudder, and she couldn’t help but ache for him. Maybe he cared for her, she thought, just a little. She could have sworn she’d heard him telling her he loved her as she’d slept. But she couldn’t tell if it was a dream, just a wishful dream.  
“I’m going to rest until they get here.” She told him, and laid her head back onto Missandei’s shoulder. “Thank you,” Dany murmured to her.  
“Of course, Your Grace.” Missandei’s voice trembled a little.   
After a few minutes, their advisors entered the room. They had brought chairs and Tyrion held a parchment and quill. He sat at the table, which had been cleared except for Daenerys’s seal and an ink pot.  
Missandei gently touched Daenerys’s shoulder. “Your Grace, they’re here.”  
Dany lifted her head and took a deep breath.   
“I don’t see how this will be binding, as I’ve mentioned, I haven’t won the throne,” she began, forcing as much strength into her voice as she could. “However, I’ve agreed to lay out my final wishes as Tyrion has requested. If you are so kind to follow these wishes, please know I am grateful.” She swallowed hard and Missandei poured her some water and carefully helped her drink it.   
“First, the matter of the throne. Jon will be my heir for reasons that should be obvious to everyone here. But of course he may wish to attempt to obscure those reasons. Should that be the case, we will first cite his bravery and sacrifice in the matter of the Great War, and his command in the Night’s Watch. If that fails to move the people, we can always cite his being King in the North. This will help mend a-“  
“The North will want independence regardless of who holds the Iron Throne,” Sansa interrupted, ignoring the glares sent by Missandei, Grey Worm and Jorah.  
Dany smiled weakly. That was a comfort somehow. Their refusal to call her queen felt slightly less personal.  
“I don’t believe they will push the matter,” Varys said. “Not if the king they chose will sit the Iron Throne.”  
“We will,” Sansa pressed. “We fought for our independence and won.”  
“This could unite the Seven Kingdoms,” Varys insisted.  
“We don’t want to be united, we want to be free. She said she would respect our independence.”  
“And independence will be respected,” Daenerys interrupted. “The Iron Islands too desire independence, and it’s possible Dorne will as well. Note that if my will is to be enacted, independence will be granted to any kingdom that wishes it, provided the rulers chosen will be fair, and not oppressive of their people. I see no reason this should not be granted to the North or the Iron Islands as I have promised.”   
“I just think that-“ Varys began.   
“It doesn’t matter. You can all argue about this...after. Lord Tyrion asked me to make a will, and that’s what I’m doing.” She took more of the water Missandei offered. “However, during and directly after the war, people will be scared and hungry and they will be recovering from years of unremitting war. There will be a transition phase and that period you can discuss among yourselves. I’ll be gone and it won’t affect me at all.”  
Jon winced. “I don’t want the throne, Dany-“   
“I understand that, Jon. I truly do. And I’m sorry to thrust this on you when I know you only want to rest after the Great War. But the realm will need stability and you are a good leader. Do you know what I read? In one of your books here? Ruling isn’t a right. It’s a duty. You are the shield that guards the realms of men. Is protector of the realm really so different?” She drank more water. “When peace is well established you can choose an heir and abdicate. Maybe you’ll want to come back here and resume your duty as King in the North. Or maybe you’ll decide to go further North.” Her eyes softened in a sudden memory, of laying tangled in his arms as they talked in hushed tones, learning each other in early morning sunlight that streamed in through the windows. “I remember you told me you felt at home there. You loved it. You talked about the lights over the waters there. How they were more beautiful than the ones at White Harbor. You said there were no titles there. No kings, queens, heirs or bastards. Just freedom. Do you remember?”  
Jon was staring at her as if she’d punched him.  
“When did I tell you that?” he asked, his voice low.  
“On your ship,” she said, slightly annoyed that he had forgotten.  
He frowned. “When were you on my ship?”  
She stared at him for a moment, then started laughing as she realized what she’d done.  
If they didn’t think I was mad before, she thought, they do now.  
“I wasn’t,” she finally said. “I must have dreamed it. But it’s true, isn’t it?”  
“Aye, it’s true.”  
“So maybe you’ll choose that. Once the realm is at peace you can do as you please.”  
“I wouldn’t even know how to choose an heir.”  
“Well it should go without saying the North would be Sansa’s.” She saw Sansa’s eyes swing to her. “But that’s between you, and beyond the scope of my will. If you want a recommendation for the Iron Throne, I’d suggest Willas Tyrell.”  
“Willas Tyrell? Why?” Tyrion asked her, turning around.  
“He’s smart, he’s well read. He’s wise and compassionate. He understands military strategy and money and agriculture. The people adored his sister and his family is well respected throughout all of Westeros. He’s also the heir to Highgarden, which will put him in an attractive position for dealing with the Iron Bank, who will certainly want their money back. And this is all academic if you decide you enjoy ruling. You want to help people, and you can only do that from a position of strength. But if you don’t enjoy it, and you abdicate, that’s my recommendation.” She smiled softly, thinking of Willas.  
She’d promised him she would come back to them. She would likely never see him again. Her smile faded. Her words were met with a silence and Dany took the opportunity to drink more water. Her voice was getting hoarser.   
“I was planning also to legitimize Gendry Waters,” she began again. “He has provided a priceless service during the Great War. He forged weapons and fought in the war itself. And we’re kin, really. For all Robert Baratheon’s hating Targaryens, his grandmother was one. Gendry should be named Lord Gendry Baratheon, and be given Storms End, as he is the last of the Baratheon line.” She turned to Ser Jorah. “You know well I cannot give you your Bear Island, it’s not mine to give and belongs to your cousin. But please choose what land you wish, so long as it’s not displacing anyone.” Ser Jorah didn’t answer her, his eyes only showing raw anguish.   
“What of Casterly Rock?” Tyrion asked her.  
“That should be between you and your brother,” she said, “but whichever of you takes it, the other may choose other land. You wanted a vineyard, didn’t you?”   
Tyrion studied her.  
“I did say that...” he said slowly, and Dany tried to remember if he’d told her in this life or the other.   
“I would also like land for my Unsullied. And for Missandei.”  
“Your Grace, you need not-“ Missandei interrupted her.  
“It will be your choice what to do with it once it’s granted. I have some jewelry, and other than my mother’s ring I would like for Missandei to have that as well. For my Dothraki, they may want land but more likely they will want riches and horses and to go back to Vaes Dothrak. Missandei and Willas can speak with them to find out what they wish.”  
She looked around the room, waiting to give the others a chance to respond. She drank more water, and she was starting to shiver a little.   
“The people’s councils may take some time to take hold-“  
“People’s councils?” Sam repeated.   
“Tyrion will explain it. As with all of this, you may choose to disregard the idea. But if you do decide to enact this, you’ll have to be patient.” She suddenly remembered then another thought that had tugged at her. “I wanted to try to make changes to the Citadel. But I suppose they’re set in their ways, and may deem it oppressive if anyone tried to change them, and we don’t really have to. Instead, you could build a library in Kings Landing.”  
“We have libraries. Most of the Lords have libraries,” Sansa said.  
“Right. The Lords. I’m talking about something more...for people. This may take a very long time and will have to wait until the realm recovers, sadly. But in time. The Citadel only allows unmarried men to study there. I think that’s loathsome. We...you, I mean,” she corrected, wincing, “could perhaps offer them compensation to allow scribes to copy books, and the same for the lord’s libraries.” She sighed, falling back against the pillows. “There are so many things I wanted to do,” she said. The sadness dragging at her voice now could not be helped, but she saw the pain in the faces around her, and squared her shoulders. She drank more water. She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat and sat up again. “That...that should be it. At least that’s all I can cover in a will by a would-be queen who never won the throne,” she said bitterly.  
“We will win it in your name,” Jon told her fiercely.  
She smiled tenderly at him.  
“Um...” Sam began, clearing his throat. “What about...the dragons?”  
Dany was engulfed in a wave of anguish. “I don’t own them,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. “I can’t leave them to anyone...but please...” and her control shattered, as tears filled her eyes. “Please don’t hurt them.”  
She brought her knees to her chest and started crying. Her children, she could not bear the thought of them wandering, unloved and hunted, through a world that viewed them as monsters. Ser Jorah and Missandei moved to comfort her.   
“I’m tired,” she finally whispered. “I need to sleep.”  
The room emptied except for Missandei, Jorah and Grey Worm. 

Jon had wanted to stay with Dany. When her veneer had broken and she’d fallen apart in heartbreak over her dragons, he had wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and cradle her, comfort her. But Ser Jorah and Missandei had flanked her, and he’d felt like an intruder.  
He knew that Tyrion was right, from a practical view, she needed a will. But he was angry, and worse, he was afraid. Her intransigent will to live, that she had been leaning upon, might collapse now that she knew there was a plan to take the throne from Cersei.   
Sam approached him, timidly smiling.   
“Jon...do you want to talk?”  
Jon nodded and followed him to his chambers.   
Sam had procured some ale, and poured it into two mugs.   
“How are you feeling?”  
Jon shook his head. “I can’t forgive myself for letting this happen.”  
“It’s not your fault, Jon.”  
“I should have taken steps to protect her. I saw that man around, I didn’t trust him. I could have watched him more closely.” He gulped the ale. “I should have told her I loved her. I should never have pulled away from her. And now it’s too late.”  
“It isn’t too late to tell her,” Sam said gently.  
“I can’t take back how cold I was to her.”  
“You were going through a lot, the dead were almost upon us, you had just found out about your parents...it’s not as if you hurt her intentionally.”  
“We all leaned into her strength, Sam. Myself most of all. And I never considered her vulnerability.” Jon drank again.   
“We did lean into her strength,” Sam agreed, his own remorse thick in his voice. “She’s so strong. It’s hard to think she’s vulnerable. My father...he bent the knee to her. And he’s always admired strength. He’s so impressed with her. Her military strategy, and then what she did on the field. She saved us all in the courtyard, repeatedly. It’s not easy to see someone do the things she’s done, and still see them as vulnerable.”  
“I knew she could be vulnerable,” Jon said in a low voice, as the memory of her small form, trembling in his arms naked, her mouth hungrily seeking his, invaded his thoughts.  
“If I may ask...Why did you pull away from her?”  
“Because she’s my aunt. And don’t tell me about what Targaryens have always done. I’m aware.”  
“I wasn’t going to. But...I’ve read many family history books, and-“  
“I know about my grandparents too.”  
“All right. And what about Jonnel and Sansa Stark? Or Edric and Serena Stark?”  
“What about them?”  
“Well, it was similar. Jonnel was Sansa’s half uncle. Edric was Serena’s half uncle.”  
“Half uncle,” Jon said.   
Sam frowned. “It feels like you’re splitting hairs now.”  
Jon rested his head in his hands. “I’m so stupid.”  
“You’re not stupid. You had no way to know this would happen.” They sat in silence for a few minutes.   
“She would have been a great queen,” Jon said finally.  
“She might still. You never gave up hope when we were fighting the dead. Don’t give up hope now.”   
“I’m trying.”  
“Maester Aemon used to have me read his letters, and he would talk to me about her. How she freed slaves in Essos and refused to leave Meereen until she could ensure their freedom forever.”  
“I remember.”  
“She reminded me a little of you.”  
“Of me?”  
“It just...it’s what you would do. You both stand up for people.”  
“I didn’t stand up for her.”  
Sam sighed and Jon could see he was trying to find words to comfort him.  
“Tell me what’s been happening with you, Sam. We haven’t seen much of each other.”  
“Oh, I don’t want to-“  
“Please. I feel like I’m going insane. I’d like to know how you’ve been.”  
“Well...” he smiled hesitantly. “Gilly is having a baby,” he said.   
Jon smiled at him. “Congratulations. I’m happy for you.”  
“If it’s a boy, we’re going to name him Jon.”  
“I hope it’s a girl, then,” Jon joked.  
“My father...He said he saw the Walkers. How hard they are to kill. Gilly had told him I’d killed one once, and he didn’t believe her because he thought they were stories. Now he’s seen them...He said I must have learned something about being a man in the Night’s Watch. And Queen Daenerys told him I saved the lives of everyone here by figuring out the efficacy of dragonglass in fighting them. He told me. He...was almost impressed with me.”  
“I’m happy he finally sees your strengths.”  
Sam laughed a little. “Well he’s certainly not planning to reinstate me or anything, but...it’s the first time in my life he wasn’t looking at me like horseshit he stepped in.” Jon laughed at that. “It’s good to see you laugh, Jon.”  
Jon nodded. “It’s good to know there are things happening that aren’t miserable.”  
Sam nodded. “I can’t really imagine what you’re feeling. If someone poisoned Gilly, I would be devastated.”  
“Devastated covers it,” Jon said, drinking more ale.   
“If that potion comes it might help. I wish I’d brought books about medicine from the Citadel. Maybe I could have come up with something....What did you think of her idea about the library?” Sam asked, and Jon could see him trying not to show his excitement.  
“It’s a good idea,” Jon said.  
“There was a definite implication that married men could study there,” Sam said. “And women. This will change everything. People will be able to get information and read stories, and learn about science, and...” he flushed with almost childlike enthusiasm, “Maybe she’ll let me help get the...” he trailed off, seeing Jon’s expression. “I mean...she or you...or Willas Tyrell...I mean whoever...I’m sorry.” His eyes darkened.   
“I know what you meant. And you’re allowed to be excited about her plans, Sam. I think it’s what she’s hoping. She wants the people to like her ideas. For them to be good for people.”  
“I’m sorry. I’m here rambling and...”  
“It’s fine, Sam.” He finished his ale. “I asked you to. I wanted to hear something good. And...I’m happy to see her plans will...” he broke off, feeling as if he would be swallowed by crushing waves of grief. “I’m going to see her. I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
Sam nodded sympathetically, and Jon walked back to Dany’s room.   
Ser Jorah was still there, as was Missandei, and Tyrion had returned as well.   
“I just wanted to see her,” he said.   
The group of people nodded at him.  
“She’s sleeping,” Ser Jorah warned him. “Her fever’s back up.”  
Jon winced and sat down. “I’ll just stay awhile, if it’s all right. I know it’s not my shift, I just...”  
“We understand,” Tyrion said. “It’s not my shift either.”  
He watched her face as she slept.   
Varys entered the room then, holding a bottle. “The Dornish rider arrived with this.” He held it up. “This is what we were waiting for”

Getting the potion into her was another matter, Jon saw with despair. Her fever had returned with a vengeance and with it, her terrible fear and mistrust. She struggled so fiercely that they were forced to give up, agreeing to try again in the morning.   
They managed to get her to swallow a small amount of it as she slept, but then she woke up choking and they’d had to stop.   
Jon had to take comfort in the small amount she’d taken, and hoped fervently that it would help.  
He wandered aimlessly around the courtyard, feeling lost. Tormund saw him, walked over to him.  
“You look like you’re the one’s been poisoned, Little Crow,” he greeted. Under his smile Jon could see concern.   
“If I could trade with her I would,” he said grimly.   
“We’re going hunting,” Tormund said, indicating the other free folk with him. “Why don’t you come with us?”  
“I have to stay here.”  
“It’s not your shift until tonight. If you keep going in when it’s not your shift, the others will too. And when the dragon queen feels better, she’ll want something real to eat. Come on. It will be good for you.”  
Jon reluctantly agreed and saddled his horse. It was true. He wouldn’t be able to enforce the proper rest of everyone else rotating shifts if he wasn’t willing to stay out of her room. But he hated to be away from her. 

************************************

Cersei was simmering with rage.  
Qyburn had noticed that the people were leaving the city. He was working on figuring out how they were getting out, but one thing was for certain. Someone had betrayed her.  
There had still been no word from Winterfell.   
If they had executed Jaime she would burn that wretched kingdom to the ground. She didn’t need dragons like that ridiculous Targaryen bitch, she had Qyburn and his science.   
Of course, she herself had sent that fool Ser Bronn to kill both her traitorous brothers. But they were hers to kill, not the North’s.   
She brightened when she received word that the assassin she’d sent to kill the dragon queen had returned.   
Ferren entered the room, and she studied him.  
“Well?” She demanded. “Is it done?”  
“It is, Your Grace.”   
Cersei smiled feverishly. “How did you do it?”  
“Poison. Tears of Lys.”  
“Wonderful. Is she dead?”  
“If she isn’t, she will be soon.”  
“Perfect. Her armies will fall apart and disband. Her allies will retreat. Her dragons will go wild.” She paced the room. “We can send ravens to all the kingdoms, offering a pardon to all those who followed her, if they present themselves here and swear fealty...was the story about the dead true? Or was it a trap?”  
“It was true, Your Grace.”  
“Hm. And my brothers?”  
“They were both well when I left.”  
“If they refuse to return I’ll have to take measures...How soon can you get back to Winterfell?”  
“Back to Winterfell?”   
Ferren was moving toward the anteroom, and she followed him In annoyance. “Stay still, Ferren,” she snapped. “If the North refuses to forfeit their so-called independence, we can poison every one of them. I want them to contemplate first. To see...do you know how many people have tried to kill that silver bitch? They’ll know it was by my hand. It should move them to pledge themselves to me. But if they don’t...” she broke off, as Ferren moved closer to her.   
“Get back,” she commanded. To her dismay, Ferren began to peel at his face. “What are you...” she broke off.  
Ferren had dragged the skin off his face and for a moment she thought perhaps that she’d been poisoned as well, or had gone utterly mad. The skin came off like a mask, and under it...under it...was a face. Not blood and bone.  
HER face.  
“You!” She hissed. “But how...”   
She’d only seen her once. She’d forgotten her face. But had never forgotten her.  
Lyanna Stark. She looked so like her brother Ned. Yet beautiful...  
“I’m Arya Stark of Winterfell,” the woman said. “You were the first name on my list. After your son Joffrey.”  
Arya Stark? Ned Stark’s lost daughter? Cersei’s mind swirled with confusion. “What list?”  
A thin flash of silver swept across her throat, and a burning followed it. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Dizziness swept over her, her heart pounding in her ears. Arya’s face began to blur. Her knees gave out beneath her, and then there was nothing. 

Arya watched the queen fall to the floor, blood spreading in a pool around her. She thought about taking her face. Who was left on her list?  
Behind her, she heard a lumbering, heavy movement. She turned and The Mountain stood in front of her. Too late, she thought, her hand on her knife. He pulled out his sword, and Arya waited, glancing at the table. If she could slide under it and cut off his legs...  
“Hello, big brother,” The Hound’s voice came from the door, and The Mountain turned sharply. “Get out of here,” he told Arya. She knew if she stayed it would distract him, endanger him even, and this was the revenge he needed and sought as she had sought and found so many times. She would not rob him of it.

***********************************

Daenerys had found it comforting to be lost in sleep, in dreaming, but she would force herself awake anyway. She wanted to drift into the dreams, but she knew she had to try to focus on the dim room, the atrocious pain burning through her belly. Her life was there, agony though it might be.  
The dreams of the night before were anything but comforting. Her dragons alone, angry, the target of attack.   
Shot from the sky.   
Worse, she had no idea what they might do, and the dreams could easily become reality.  
She wondered if Jon might be able to help them. She knew once she was gone her dragons could find another rider.   
The thought hurt her, she was jealous, really, but she knew that must be put aside. If her children didn’t have some person who would love them and care for them, they might become dangerous. And like herself in her terrible vision, they would be killed.   
She shuddered.  
She also had seen a strange thing in her dream. A little girl with her name, her face, shivering violently in her bed. Cold.  
A man with her own features, her silver hair and violet eyes, demanding that she needed a dragon.  
Too late, and the little girl died.  
Daenerys woke up weeping.  
She needed to be with her dragons. She needed to let them feel her love for them. They’d never betrayed her. Never turned on her in any dream or at any time.   
She pushed herself up.  
“Khaleesi,” Ser Jorah said, leaning toward her. “You must rest. What do you need? I’ll get it for you.”  
“I need my dragons.”  
“They’re outside.”  
“I have to go to them.”  
“Khaleesi-“  
“I’m going with or without your help, Ser Jorah. It will be better for me if you’ll help.”  
He looked as if he might argue but must have seen the futility of it.   
“At least get dressed in something warmer,” he said, and she agreed.   
He carried her outside, and the people milling about greeted them warmly. Told her they were asking the old gods to save her.   
This touched her more than she could express, and she had to keep from dissolving into tears.   
All three of her children were perched on the rooftop and she called to them in Valyrian. They would follow, she knew. The tether was strong, even if she wasn’t.  
Ser Jorah carried her outside the walls of Winterfell and around the walls to a wide space where they might land, which they did, waiting for her. She could feel their love, their eagerness to be near her. Ser Jorah laid her next to Drogon. All three of her children drew close, and she relished their heat.   
She started to tell them, to explain she wasn’t well and may be gone soon, but she didn’t have to. They knew, and pressed closer to her, crying out and nuzzling her.   
She sat on Drogon’s leg, as he had extended it for her to do so, and leaned against his body.  
She never had to ever doubt him. He’d loved her when she was the Breaker of Chains, the Mhysa, and he’d loved her when she was the Mad Queen, the Queen of the Ashes.   
But the latter could only bring destruction. If she lived, she would have to remind herself always the life she would be leaving her children if she ever allowed herself to be that person again.  
She smiled at Ser Jorah, who looked concerned but smiled back.   
“I needed to be here. If I’m to die, I want to be with them when it happens.”  
“Have you considered taking the Dornish potion?”  
Her eyes hardened. “The potion Varys sent for?”  
“The very same. He doesn’t want to harm you.”  
“I have trouble believing that.”  
He sighed and she couldn’t help but hurt for him. He loved her, she knew.   
She was afraid to simply accept Varys’ word.  
In her vision Bran Stark had not warned her about the ambush, had not warned her about Varys poisoning her...what if they were conspiring to get Jon on the throne? Claiming it was Cersei who’d sent the assassin?  
She shuddered. She hated being so suspicious.  
It seems to me that a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts everyone, she remembered her own words.  
“I’m going to rest,” she said. “I’ll think on it.”  
“There isn’t time.”  
“If it’s too late in an hour from now, it’s already too late.”   
She closed her eyes as she listened to the rhythmic breathing of her child.   
If she were to die, she would die here, with them.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter opens with the end of the fight between Sandor and Gregor Clegane. It goes essentially the same as the show except of course   
there’s not a firestorm outside, they’re in Cersei’s chamber instead of the hallway, and Arya is there.  
Dany finally takes the Dornish potion, the news of Cersei’s demise reaches them, and conversations happen.  
As always thank you all so much for reading my story, and your comments and kudos mean so so much to me! :-)

Chapter Thirteen 

Arya watched the two brothers fight, listening to their swords clang against each other. She wanted to dive in, to help her friend, but she wouldn’t, she knew that to take this from him would be a kind of robbery.   
They thrashed about the room, smashing furniture and glasses as they did.   
The Hound plunged a knife into the Mountain’s head, and Arya watched in shock as the Mountain began to pull the knife back out. The Hound dove at him, and Arya could see his intent, as they pressed over the wide window in Cersei’s chamber, hovered over the parapet, and she leapt toward the two men as they went over. She grabbed onto the Hound’s leg, gripped it, pulled with all her strength. He’s so heavy, she thought, straining, bracing her feet against the floor beneath her. Her muscles were on fire.  
“Let go of me,” he growled at her. “What are you-“  
“No,” she gritted and with a burst of sweating effort, pulled him back over the ledge and into the chambers.  
“Why the hell did you do that?” He roared at her.  
“I owed you one,” she said, panting. “We have to get out of here. I’m shit at tending wounds. And Cersei’s guards will be here soon.”  
Cursing, the Hound stood and they left the chambers, and made their way out of the building.  
The city was almost empty, and she could see a purposeful movement of small groups of people, some holding bags or pets, some empty handed, toward the same direction. They followed. These people were leaving, Arya thought. With Kings Landing under siege, they had had to sneak into the city, and they would now have to sneak out as well. As they walked through a tunnel and down a rocky ledge, the Hound cursed under his breath. Reaching the shore outside, she could see Greyjoy ships, and ships with a sigil she didn’t recognize along with them, lining the bay.  
A Greyjoy ship awaited the people who had left the city, and Arya could see them lining up to board it.  
She approached one of the men directing the line, an officer with the Tyrell Rose sigil on his armor.  
“Where’s the ship going?”  
The man looked at her suspiciously, then took in the blood spattered across her shirt, and the Hound’s ravaged features.  
“It’s safe,” the officer assured her. “It’s bringing all you refugees to Dragonstone.”  
Arya frowned, then remembered that Daenerys had been evacuating the city because Cersei was executing them. Dragonstone made as much sense as any other place to take refuge.   
“I’m not going to Dragonstone,” the Hound snapped at Arya.  
The officer frowned. “You don’t have to. You can go wherever you wish. But you’ll be safe there.”  
“Safe,” the Hound spat.  
“Is there any news about Daenerys?” Arya interrupted. “Her condition, I mean. We heard she was poisoned.”  
The officer gave her a hard look. “Queen Daenerys,” he corrected. “She’s as well as can be expected.”  
“She’s alive still,” Arya said, and suspected that it was only the relief in her tone that prevented the officer from becoming angry.  
“Yes. Last we heard.”  
“Whose ships are those?” She asked, indicating the ships that had joined the Greyjoys.  
“Sell sails,” the officer responded.   
“Thank you.”  
Arya began walking along the shore with the Hound beside her, and climbed back up the rocks. “We should go back to Winterfell,” she told him. She saw his face and neck were now soaked with the blood running from his swollen eyes. What would Jon do, what would Mother do, she thought. After a moment’s consideration, she took out her dagger and cut off one of her shirt sleeves at the shoulder.   
The Hound was blinking, she couldn’t tell if he could see clearly or not, but it was enough for him to move and follow her. “Sandor,” she said as softly as she could, and pressed the fabric into one of his huge, rough hands. “Use this. We have to keep moving. Grab my shoulder if you need to stop.”  
He muttered but walked with her.

***************************

Jon rode with Tormund back to Winterfell, listening to his friend as he spoke of what they would do with their hunt. Food, of course, and furs. It was almost evening, and he’d been away the entire day. The other men had wanted to extend the hunt, complaining that a proper hunt could last days, and Jon had not opposed their doing so, but he wanted to get back. His shift watching over Daenerys would begin soon, and he wondered if anyone had been able to get her to drink the potion. He wondered if it would help. If the potion would even work against Tears of Lys, and if so, whether there would be permanent damage from days of the poison eating away at her insides. Maester Wolkan had said it was good that she was even alive and conscious enough to converse, even if it was only every few hours.   
He passed the wall of Winterfell and frowned as he entered the courtyard. He’d grown accustomed to the three dragons spending most of their time on the rooftop, and they were gone. He wondered anxiously if maybe they’d gone hunting themselves.   
He walked straight to Dany’s room, he wanted to check on her before he did anything else.   
He needed to see her, and to find out if they’d managed to make progress with the potion.  
He opened the door, and felt his blood run cold in his veins.  
The room was empty.   
The bed had been made, and the room still smelled like Dany’s orange oil.   
He walked into the room, slowly, as if afraid to disturb anything.   
She’s gone, he thought. She’s gone and I wasn’t here.   
He was shaking violently, seized by a horror so vast he thought it could fill everything, leaving nothing in its wake.   
Right at the edge of the horror was rage. Rage at the assassin who had murdered her. Rage at Cersei for hiring him. Rage at himself for not killing the man before he’d had a chance to slip the tasteless odorless evil into Dany’s broth.   
He grabbed the edges of the table where Tyrion had written down her will the night before, and hurled it across the room, gripped in wild fury and crippling grief. It smashed into splinters against the stone wall and he collapsed across the bed, inhaling the scent of her, gripping the blankets. As if he could hurt them, as if he could punish them for letting her die. He would avenge her, he swore. He would keep her promises and he would give her justice.  
“Jon, what are you doing?” Sansa’s voice came to him from the doorway.   
He turned to her, and saw her face; she looked frightened.  
“When?” He demanded, his voice shredded by savage sorrow.  
“When...what?”  
“When did she...” he took a breath. “When did she die?”  
“Daenerys? She didn’t die. She wanted to be with her dragons. She’s outside.”  
Jon stood shakily. “She’s alive?”  
“Yes. She’s being ridiculously stubborn about the potion. She’s sure she’s not a Northerner? Because the stubbornness is-“  
“Where outside?” Jon asked, and the relief coursing through him made him feel light. He wanted to laugh.   
“I think around back, in that field where we used to play-“  
Jon hugged her tightly, and ran out into the courtyard. He stopped as he saw a group enter; a man who looked as haggard as Jon felt, surrounded by a small but well armed retinue. Sansa walked outside as well, and watched as Jon’s men greeted the visitor, who was unshaven and had dark circles under his eyes.   
He was walking with a cane, and Jon suddenly recognized him from Dragonstone. Willas Tyrell, Lady Olenna’s grandson. He looked far worse for wear than the last time he’d seen him.  
“Lord Tyrell,” he greeted. “Welcome to Winterfell. Are you all right?”  
“Your Grace,” Willas responded. “I’m here to see Queen Daenerys. Is she...?” He broke off as if he too could not manage to say the words.  
“She’s alive. She’s with her dragons,” Jon said quickly, not wanting to give the man the same scare he himself had just experienced.   
Willas lowered his head, leaned on his cane as if the relief had robbed him of strength. “Thank the Seven,” he breathed.   
“I’m going to see her now,” Jon said.  
“I’ll go with you,” Willas said immediately.   
Jon frowned. “You’ve just come from a long journey. Why not rest and eat something? Then you can-“  
“Forgive me, Your Grace, but I couldn’t possibly eat or rest before I see her. My thoughts have been only of her, and her well being, these last days. I can’t imagine being this close and doing anything other than seeing her.”  
He loves her, Jon thought. He sighed. “All right. Come on.”  
They walked together, and Jon noted that Willas was trying to move quickly, so as not to slow him down. Jon slowed his pace a little, despite his impatience.   
They saw the three dragons, curled incongruously, almost like kittens, around their mother. Ser Jorah sat nearby, but stood as he saw the men approaching, his hand on his sword. He seemed to relax when he recognized them.   
“Your Grace. My Lord,” he greeted them.   
Dany looked up at them and smiled. Her face looked confused for a moment as she realized Willas was standing there.  
“Lord Willas! What are you doing here?”  
“I had to see you, Your Grace.”  
Jon could see her pale little face light up. “You traveled all this way to see me?”  
“Of course.”  
Jon had moved closer to her, sitting beside her, but Willas had stood back, as if concerned to come too close.  
Dany murmured in Valyrian to her dragons, then said, “come and sit! You must be exhausted!”   
Willas glanced at her dragons apprehensively, then approached. He found a large stone to sit upon, then lowered himself carefully upon it, studying Dany’s face.  
She turned to Jon. “How was your hunt?”  
“Good,” he said, still reeling from the relief of seeing her alive, even if ashen and ravaged by pain, after the crushing moments in her room, when he’d thought she was gone.   
“Has the potion helped?” Willas asked her.  
She bit her lip and started to answer, but Ser Jorah jumped in.   
“She’s refused to take it,” he said dismally.  
“Refused?” Willas turned his gaze back to Dany. “Why?”  
“I’m...” she broke off, sighing. “I’m afraid it might be...”   
“You’re afraid someone might try to poison you again,” Willas said, his eyes softening in sympathy.  
She nodded.   
Jon felt a wave of frustrated terror. “You would die,” he said desperately, “out of stubbornness. And you said we Northerners were stubborn.”  
“To be fair, I remember her acknowledging that she’s stubborn, too,” Willas said. “And it’s a fair point.”  
“A fair point?” Ser Jorah demanded.   
“It is,” Willas insisted lightly. “She felt safe here. I understand she finished the broth that had been poisoned. Of course her trust has been compromised.”  
Jon wondered how the man could be so calm. How was it to Dany’s benefit to agree with her? He felt anger mounting.   
“Do you have it with you?” Willas asked, and Ser Jorah produced the bottle from his pocket.  
Willas took it from him and looked at it thoughtfully.   
Jon wondered for a moment if Willas was thinking to try to force her to drink it. There were three of them, two could hold her and the other could...but no. No doubt her dragons would sense her distress and burn them and then where would they be?  
“This was developed in Dorne,” Willas went on peaceably, and Dany looked relieved that he wasn’t going to press it. “It’s been used to counteract various poisons. I don’t think it’s been used for Tears of Lys.”  
“You realize she will die if she doesn’t take this,” Jon said, and it was difficult to keep his voice strained rather than outright raging.   
“If my time is borrowed, why forfeit what’s left of it?” Dany said.   
“You’re...” Ser Jorah hesitated, “you’re dying. I fail to see how it could hurt,” he said, his own voice weighted with despair.  
“It would hurt by robbing me of what time I have left,” Dany argued weakly.  
“And there’s an emotional risk as well,” Willas added. “She was poisoned by an enemy. How much worse would it be for her, to be poisoned by an ally? For the last thing she ever knows is that she was betrayed by someone she thought she could trust.”   
Jon glared at him, resisted the urge to swing at him. This was no help, he thought angrily. He glanced at Jorah, whose face had softened, and he lowered his head. Was he going to let Dany go, was he persuaded too?  
“Why are you encouraging her in this?” Jon demanded of Willas, his voice still rough.  
Willas sighed. “I’m only saying her fears are valid.”  
Jon could see the gratitude on Dany’s face, so he let it rest.  
“It was developed in Dorne but it was by a group of alchemists,” Willas told Dany. “This is far more than a full dosage. More than the dosage must be added, because like you, Your Grace, people who’ve been poisoned are not inclined to readily take what’s given them. They’ll fight it, and there’s spillage. And then some poisons are likely to cause choking. The Strangler, for example. It’s such a fast poison, and a potion to stop the damage done may not even work, but if it does, as much of it spills to the floor as gets into the victim. Allowances must be made for some of it being choked back out. And of course there are issues with a poison such as Blood of the Basilisk. It won’t kill the victim but there are good reasons to wish to prevent its effects.”  
“What are its effects?” Dany asked him, and Jon could see she was fascinated.   
“Madness. Terrible, murderous, savage madness. They say a mouse will attack a lion after a taste of Basilisk Blood. The madness brings on an otherworldly strength. It will wear off, of course, but the damage a man might do while possessed by the poison can be vast and irrevocable. And an attempt to force the antidote on the victim will often result in much spillage.” Willas lifted the bottle, opening it. Dany moved back a little, her eyes fearful.   
Willas did not attempt to force it on her. He smelled it. Then, tilted his head back and drank some of it.  
“Willas!” Dany cried out in horror. “What are you doing?”  
Willas smiled at her tenderly, closing the bottle.   
“I’m fairly confident this is not poison. But I can’t convey that confidence to you, and I know well you won’t allow a taster. We’ll wait a time, and as you see I have not been poisoned, you may have the confidence to drink this as well.”  
“And if it’s poisoned?” Dany demanded.   
“If it’s poisoned you’ll know soon enough, and then you’ll know not to drink it.”  
“And you’ll die,” she said, her voice low.  
“Having never served a king or queen, I understand you don’t realize this, but it’s considered to be quite an honor to die for one’s monarch, all the more so if it’s a monarch who was freely chosen. And Your Grace, I only live now because of you. My family and I would be long dead, had you not predicted the attack on our home. And if the songs are to be believed, all of Westeros might be dead if not for you.”  
“Songs?” Dany’s brow furrowed.  
Willas smiled at her. “Oh, yes, Your Grace. As I rushed here to see you, minstrels all along the roads and in the taverns have been singing of what happened here. How the King in the North and the Mother of Dragons battled fearlessly against the army of the dead, who would have ended the world.”  
She flushed. “I didn’t realize there were songs about it.”  
“Many songs,” Willas said. “You stood on your dragon, and shot arrows where fire would have harmed the living. You killed a White Walker by jumping into fire.”  
She laughed. “I didn’t think I could take him without an element of surprise.”  
Willas’s own smile widened. “So it’s true.” She nodded. “And did you really have the King in the North ride a dragon with you? And Lord Tyrion?”   
“Yes. They rode so well, even though they were new to it.”  
Willas nodded, and turned to Jon admiringly. “I would have been terrified to mount a dragon,” he confessed. He turned back to Dany. “I wish I’d seen Lord Tyrion ride. Many doubt that part of the story, but I must say it makes me happy.”  
“It made me happy too, and having three dragons with riders made our chances much better,” Dany said. She was still watching Willas anxiously.  
“You’re sweating,” she noticed, and in her voice, unmistakable fear.  
“That’s to be expected, Your Grace. I’ll be spending much more time in the privy than usual before long. The potion is intended to halt the effects of poison. But also to drive out poison. Sweating and then...more delicate effects will occur. That part only lasts a day. Once you take the potion, you’ll want to head inside for awhile. But by tomorrow at this time, you can be back here with your dragons. And then we’ll have to have the maester look at you. I fear that the time it took to get the potion to you could be harmful. There may be lasting damage.”  
Dany studied him. “You’ll be sick from this.”  
Willas shrugged. “It won’t be any dangerous sickness. A little unpleasant. But far better than losing you would have been.”  
She bit her lip, and reached for the bottle. Willas handed it to her and she took it, drinking it.   
Jon felt himself sagging with relief. He understood now why Dany had suggested this man as Jon’s heir to the throne. He had a peaceable, gentle manner and for all his shyness, there was a smooth confidence, a shrewdness in getting what he wanted.   
“Thank you, Your Grace. I’ve sent a message to Volantis,” Willas went on. “I wish a raven could have made the trip, it would have been much swifter.”  
“Volantis?”  
“I understand Volantis has five slaves for every free man. They have a strong motivation for wanting the Breaker of Chains to survive. The Red Temple is the largest in the known world and their Priests and Priestesses are very supportive of you. Benerro and Kinvara, the First Servants in their faith, both preach much about you.”  
Jon’s eyes shot to Willas’ face.  
Dany smiled at him. “You’re going to ask them to pray for me?”   
“Prayers never hurt, but I’m hoping for something more practical.”  
“I doubt there’s anything practical that can be done, aside from this potion, and that’s if it works.”  
“You’d be amazed, Your Grace. If the stories I’ve heard are true, there’s much that they are able to do. And as your supporters, they can’t wish you to spend the rest of your life in pain.”  
She frowned. “We’ll see,” she said skeptically. “But thank you.”  
Jon was thinking about that. He knew from experience what a Red Priestess could do, and knew well that the arts they practiced might do much to heal the ravages caused by poison.   
He felt almost as if he’d eavesdropped on a conversation between them, though they both knew he was there, but could not regret it.

**********************************

Qyburn carefully brewed tea to bring to his queen. He had found it was as he suspected, people were leaving the city.   
He would have to tell her. He wanted her to know as soon as possible, but he knew also that night was falling and he hated to keep her awake with new information to worry about.   
She needed rest. The pregnancy and premature labor had taken a lot out of her.  
Her fierce and proud nature would not allow her to acknowledge this, not even to herself, Qyburn suspected, but he could see it.   
He knew she might be in good spirits. Her assassin had returned, which meant of course that he must have eliminated the dragon queen, and this was very good news.  
Qyburn wished there had been some way to take her alive; he’d heard tales that she did not burn, even in fire, and his experiments would have benefited greatly by such a subject.  
He knew it must be some old Valyrian magic, but even magic must follow the laws of nature.   
But of course, his queen was wise and right to eliminate this enemy all together. She was far too dangerous.   
He wondered if it would be better to tell her now, while she was still sailing from the excitement of a dead enemy, or tomorrow after she’d rested.  
He decided to speak to her and decide then. She may have also received news at last of her brother, and that news would shape her mood.  
He entered her chambers, and felt a knot form in his belly when he saw the Mountain was not at her door.   
Why had he left her unprotected?  
“Your Grace?” He walked further into the room, and dropped the cup he held as he saw her. It shattered as it fell, and he shattered with it as he dropped to his knees before Cersei’s unmoving form.  
She lay face down, blood pooled around her.  
“Your Grace,” he whispered, turning her over. Her catlike eyes gazed past him, unseeing. Her throat had been cut, and blood stained her face, neck, and chest. He lifted her into his arms, rocking her as he wept.   
“I will avenge you,” he promised her.   
He would stay long enough to make sure the wildfire ignited when the queen’s enemies entered the city. Then he would take baby Joanna to safety.

*****************************

Jon sat in the Great Hall of Winterfell and was almost happy. It was a tentative happiness, but there nonetheless. Dany had drank the antidote and as Willas predicted, spent the rest of the day and night in her chambers.   
Willas had been planning to go with his retinue to a tavern in Winter Town, but Sansa had insisted they stay here at Winterfell.  
Jon couldn’t be annoyed by that; the man had convinced Dany to take the potion, and gratitude far outweighed his irritation over Willas being blatantly in love with her.  
Maester Wolkan had said this morning that the poison seemed to be mostly out of Dany’s system now. The fever was gone but the pain remained, and the Maester had warned her, as Willas had, that the damage might be permanent.  
Jon was concerned about this. But the sheer lightness of knowing the poison was out of her and she was not in immediate danger had wiped out everything else.  
Willas had entered the hall and Sansa invited him to sit at the table with them.  
Jon was open to this idea but found it strange that Sansa had gone to great lengths to make Daenerys feel unwelcome, yet was eager to make Dany’s visiting ally feel at home.   
Jon remembered, though, that Sansa had been friends with his sister at Kings Landing.   
He listened absently to their conversation. She was asking about the hounds he bred, and he was talking about them moving to Dorne after getting settled at Dragonstone, how it had caused them stress but they were expecting a litter of puppies soon anyway.   
Willas’s eyes kept wandering to the doorway and Jon understood. His own eyes did the same. Wondering if Dany would join them for dinner.  
Across the room, Randyll Tarly and Jaime Lannister were studying Willas, and Jon felt his stomach tighten when they eventually approached the table.  
“We owe you an apology,” Jaime said to Willas.  
“I apologize for myself, and on behalf of my House, for my actions,” Randyll Tarly added.  
Jon turned to watch them.  
Willas was looking at them coldly.  
“An empty apology unless you intend to make some kind of reparations to my grandmother,” he responded.  
“Once the realm recovers from the war, I would be happy to-“ Jaime began, and Willas cut him off.  
“Not you. Your family made no oath to mine, and you’ll have your hands full paying back the Iron Bank.”  
“The Iron Bank? My family took those loans, not me, and-“  
“And a Lannister always pays his debts. Which is good, because the Iron Bank will have its due.”  
“The debt to the Iron Bank will be inherited by the crown,” Jaime retorted, cautious, testing the icy waters.  
Willas narrowed his eyes, any hint of warmth gone. “You will not leave Queen Daenerys vulnerable to attack by the Iron Bank,” he said glacially. “You will pay them.”  
Jaime hesitated. “All right,” he finally said.  
Willas turned back to Tarly.  
“As soon as the realm recovers I will begin to make reparations to your grandmother,” Tarly said. “We broke our oath to you, and this is a dishonor. My family has never done such a thing before. We will make amends.”  
Some of the coldness had left Willas’ eyes but the warmth did not return.  
“I thank you for your apology. It will be accepted once you start making reparations.”  
The two men nodded and left the table, and Willas turned back to Sansa. The warmth had returned to his face as they resumed talking about puppies, and then his voice trailed off as his eyes fixated on the door.  
Dany had come into the hall, and Jon stood and walked to her quickly. She was pale still, but some of her color had returned. Jon took her arm in his and walked with her toward the table. She smiled at him, and he wished fervently that he’d done this every time she’d ever entered his halls. When the eyes on her were cold and suspicious. Now they were grateful and kind, happy to see she had survived. He felt that he’d never behaved with such cowardice as he had in refusing to stand by her, and he was willing to spend the rest of his days making that up to her.  
He led her to the table, where Willas had stood with his eyes lit with relief at her entrance.  
“Your Grace, it makes me so happy to see you have some of your color back,” he said.  
She smiled at him, and Jon felt gripped by a sudden possessiveness.   
They sat down to eat.  
Jon strained over the chatter in the room to hear what they were saying. They spoke much more quietly than Willas had spoken to Sansa, and the intimacy of it annoyed him.  
He could only make out part of it, something about Willas teaching Dany how to play cyvasse while she recovered.   
“And what of the war on Cersei?” Sansa asked, and Jon realized she’d been straining to hear the conversation as well.  
Dany opened her mouth to respond, and Bran turned to them serenely and said, “Cersei’s dead.”  
The room fell silent, then erupted into chatter.  
“Are you sure?” Jon asked.  
“I’m sure. Arya cut her throat.”  
“Is she all right?” Jon demanded.   
“Arya? She’s fine. She’s on her way home.”  
Jon could see Jaime Lannister across the room. His face had turned ashen, and he stormed out of the hall, followed by Ser Brienne and Lord Tyrion.   
He turned to Dany, expecting to see relief, triumph. But her eyes was on the door where her Hand and his brother had just left, and she looked sad for them.   
She turned, seeing his gaze. She smiled faintly at him.   
“Do you think your sister will be safe coming back?” She asked him. “I could ask some of my men to find her and protect her on her way.”  
Jon thought about that. If she’d made it across Westeros and into the Red Keep, there was a good chance she would make it back home, and she might even be suspicious of a group of soldiers looking for her. It could easily turn dangerous.  
“I think she’ll be all right.”

**********************************

Tyrion followed his brother out of the warm Hall of Winterfell and into the cold, whipping winds outside.  
Despite a lifetime of antagonism, his chest ached at the loss of his sister.  
He’d expected it. But it hit hard.   
He could not fathom how it must have hit Jaime. Tyrion approached him cautiously.   
Jaime was retching, leaning against the wall, bent over.   
Ser Brienne rushed to his side.   
“Jaime, I’m so sorry,” she said.  
“You aren’t sorry,” he rasped.  
“I’m...I’m sorry for what you must be feeling,” she said.   
Jaime looked at her as if searching for a lie, then his face softened. Tyrion felt suddenly like an intruder. He touched the lower part of Jaime’s arm.  
“I’m sorry too,” he said softly. “If you need me, let me know.”   
He walked back inside, sensing the need Jaime had to be alone with Ser Brienne, and hoped he was making the right choice. His brother had always been there for him. He wanted to offer whatever support he could.   
The hall felt hot now, stifling. The faces around him were smiling, and he knew dimly that many would be celebrating this.  
He turned to look at Daenerys. She was looking straight at him, he realized. Her eyes looked sad, and he knew it was sadness for him. For herself, she must only feel peace in the wake of this news, he thought.  
He decided to go back outside. He couldn’t think now with these people cheering his sister’s death, even knowing it was probably what she deserved. He grabbed a jug of wine and walked back into the bitter night air. Jaime had already left the courtyard, Tyrion figured Ser Brienne must have left with him, as the courtyard was empty.  
He sat down on a low wooden table, drinking his wine, trying to gather his thoughts. He heard steps approaching, and turned to see Daenerys waking toward him.   
“You must be happy,” he said to her, and immediately regretted it. It had sounded harsh, attacking, and she looked so frail now. She was in pain still, he could see it. She had every reason to be happy, he thought. Her would-be murderer was dead.  
Daenerys didn’t seem angry, or even hurt. She carefully lowered herself onto a pile of feed bags, and studied him.  
“How are you?” She asked quietly.  
“I didn’t mean...”  
“It’s all right,” she said. “I didn’t see her the way you did. She was my enemy. She tried to murder me. But she was your sister.”  
Tyrion sighed. “And she tried to murder me just the same. More than once.”  
“Yet you love her. Do you want to talk?”  
He looked at her. “Are you really attempting to comfort the brother of your enemy for her death?”  
She frowned. “I’m attempting to comfort my friend on the death of his sister.”  
Tyrion drank some wine, offered the jug to her.  
“I can’t,” she said. “I’m not adding morning fog to my already miserable condition. And the Maester advised me not to drink unless I heal.”  
He nodded. Unless she heals, Tyrion thought. Not until she heals but unless. Yes, she had every reason to be happy at this news.  
“I’m not angry that you’re happy about it. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.”  
She nodded. “I know. I can’t say I’m happy, but I won’t deny that I’m...relieved. I’m not grieving. But I know you are.”  
Tyrion shuddered. He was. “I was hoping somehow she could be exiled. I knew, though. Once she poisoned you, I knew she couldn’t. When Yara Greyjoy found out, she sent us a note saying she would kill Cersei with her own hands. But...I still hoped.”  
“I understand that.”  
“Do you?”  
“It was difficult for me,” she confessed. “I’ve only ever had my brother. It was hard for me at first to understand. You, Jon, your loyalties to your family made me feel...threatened, I suppose.”  
“I promise you that whatever love I have for my sister, I never wanted anyone but you on the throne.” She nodded, but didn’t answer, so he went on. “In all my years, I’ve never bent the knee. Not to Robert or Joffrey. Not to anyone. I acknowledged them as king. But never bent the knee. I’ve only bent the knee once in my entire life. To you. The day you named me your Hand.”  
She reached over and squeezed his hand lightly. “Thank you for that,” she said softly.   
He sighed. “Cersei blamed me for our mother dying. She hated me. Always. But I remember once, on her name day...I’d gotten her and Jaime gifts. What I’d gotten her was a rare perfume from Yi Ti. It cost most of what I’d saved. It was made with saffron of course, and various other scents. It was rumored to be a favorite of your brother Rhaegar’s, and Cersei was quite taken with him at the time. She looked at it suspiciously when she saw it was from me but when she smelled it, she actually smiled at me. She was disappointed that it was I who gave it to her. But it was her favorite gift that year, and she wore it quite often. She kept the bottle long after she’d used it up, just to smell it. I was proud of that.”  
Daenerys smiled sadly at him. He drank his wine and sat quietly.   
“You should go in,” he said after a few minutes. “You’re shivering.”  
“I’m all right,” she said softly.  
Tyrion thought again about Jaime. What this must be doing to him. He would go to him tomorrow, he decided.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany is recovering, the armies set out to take Kings Landing, Jon and Dany have a mine field of emotional mess to traverse before they can make it work, Arya comes home, Qyburn plans his revenge.   
Your comments continue to inspire me, and your kudos mean the world to me, truly! Thank you all so much! :-)

Chapter Fourteen 

The pain was monstrous. Daenerys was tired of it, and angry that it wasn’t easing back. It exhausted her and took far too much of her energy. She was weak all the time now, beset by sudden stabs of agony.  
She’d gotten word that the refugees from Kings Landing were settling at Dragonstone, and she was relieved.  
She felt that now it should be easy to take the capitol, but her pain made her useless.   
Worse, Lord Willas and Maester Wolkan had told her this pain might be permanent. Maester Wolkan tried to convince her to rest, to stay in bed for a few more days, but he’d given up when faced with the steel of her determination.  
“How long does it usually take to recover from Tears of Lys poisoning?” She’d demanded impatiently.  
“People...don’t recover from Tears of Lys poisoning. If you hadn’t taken that potion, you’d likely be dead by now.”  
She sat in her chambers now, contemplating this. Varys had sent word to get the potion. And it had saved her life. She had fiercely mistrusted him. She still mistrusted him. She was grateful to him, but it concerned her that without his help she would be dead. She could not feel comfortable with her life depending on the actions of a man who could so easily change his mind and kill her.  
She thought about Jon.  
It was different with Jon. She’d already burned the city and had made very clear to him her intention to burn anyone who refused to swear allegiance to her.  
And whatever anger she felt at him, she knew it hadn’t been easy for him to kill her.   
She heard a light knock at the door, and Missandei came in, smiling at her.  
“Good morning, Daenerys. I’m so happy to see you’re doing better.”  
“Thank you,” she said, smiling back. She stood and hugged Missandei tightly. She noted that Missandei felt thinner, more fragile than she’d felt before and pulled back, looking into her face with concern. “Are you all right?”  
“Yes, of course.”  
“Has someone here hurt you?”  
“No, not at all. Why?”  
“You feel so thin.”   
“I’ve been very worried. About you. We thought you were going to die.” Dany sat down on her bed, and Missandei sat beside her.   
“I started to think so too,” Dany said softly.   
“I know. I knew when you agreed to make a will. I didn’t want to fall apart in front of you. I wanted to support you, I knew you were hurting. I knew you were in pain. But when I was alone with Grey Worm I would just cry. I would try to eat and rest because I needed to be strong for you. You’ve always been strong for all of us. But...” she broke off and Dany hugged her again.   
She remembered her vision, how losing Missandei had devastated her to her core.  
They silently fell into their old routine of styling each other’s hair.   
“How are you feeling now?” Missandei asked after a few minutes.  
“Better. There’s no fever. But I’m weak and there’s still pain, and I’m completely useless.”  
“You aren’t useless. You’re recovering.”  
“I may never recover. So the sooner I start moving around, the more I’ll become accustomed to it.”  
Missandei sighed. “I think you should rest.”  
Daenerys felt as though she’d wasted too much time resting already, but she didn’t want to rush into another mistake, and though she thought now might be the best time to take the city, the things from her vision had passed.   
She had no way to know what would come next.   
Another knock sounded at the door, and Qhono stepped in. “Are you well, Khaleesi?” He asked her. It took a second for her to fully realize that he’d spoken to her in the Common Tongue.  
“When did you start learning the Common Tongue?” She asked him, and he smiled.   
“For some time,” he said.   
“I’ve been teaching him and a few others,” Missandei said. “Grey Worm too has been teaching some of the Unsullied. We thought it might be a good idea to keep it secret from these Northerners in the event they speak ill of you.”   
Daenerys smiled at them both gratefully.   
“How are you feeling?” Qhono asked again.   
“I’m feeling better,” she assured him.   
She was certainly better than she had been.  
The three of them walked out into the hall. An argument had broken out over taking the capitol, and she frowned, sitting carefully at the table with Jon and Sansa, annoyed by the pain slashing at her.  
Randyll Tarly and a few other men had been standing before the table, and he turned to her once she sat.   
“How are you feeling, Your Grace?”  
“Better, Lord Tarly. Thank you.”  
“I was just saying that we should take the capitol now.”  
Daenerys glanced at Jon. He turned to her. “He makes a good point, Your Grace,” Jon told her. “With Cersei gone, this is the best time. The city is mostly empty and they have no king or queen in the Keep.”  
Daenerys sighed. “You’re right. But...I have to be honest, I’m not sure I’m up to it.” She hated it, hated the weakness, hated having to confess to it.  
“You can stay here,” Lord Tarly said. “We are not expecting much resistance. We can take the capitol for you.”  
“And have you all go into battle while I sit here and do nothing?”  
“While you recover, Your Grace,” Jon said to her earnestly. “What good would it do for us to seize the city for you, only to have...have something happen to you?”  
“I’m in agreement with him,” Lord Tarly said. “There’s no reason you should have to join us. We will not be up against the kind of resistance where you would need to rain down fire.”  
“I don’t like the idea of sending you all into battle while I-“  
“Your Grace, you were poisoned. It would be foolish for us to expect you to enter battle. I’ve seen men poisoned with Tears of Lys. It’s a bad way. You need to rest,” Lord Tarly said firmly. “At the same time, there is no better time than now to take the city. It would not even take an attack, with Cersei dead. The city has been evacuated. Please. Allow us to take the capitol.”  
She glanced again at Jon. “The future you promised depends on you surviving us taking the city,” he said softly.   
She sighed deeply and nodded.  
Anxiety rolled in her stomach. But they were right. This would be the best time. 

******************************

The last part of the journey back to Winterfell was the hardest, Arya thought. Sandor was becoming increasingly belligerent and had developed a fever. His injuries had slowed him down and any attempt to have him move faster was met with a growling reminder that she could have let him die.   
Arya felt a nagging guilt when she rushed him, but mounting worry when they moved too slowly. He needed to get to a Maester, quickly.  
She smiled when she saw an inn ahead. This was the inn, she knew, where Hot Pie would be. And food and a night of rest would do Sandor and herself some good.  
They entered the dark inn and sat down.   
Hot Pie saw her and walked over to her, smiling.   
“Arry!” He greeted, excitedly. “They said you killed a monster!”  
Arya smiled faintly. A few, she thought. “I’m happy to see you’re alive,” she said.   
He laid out some bread and ale before her and Sandor, sitting down.  
“Was Winterfell attacked by an army of dead people?”  
“Yes,” she said, tearing into the bread.  
“And you killed their leader and they all died.”  
She nodded.   
“Were there really dragons?”  
“Yes.”  
He sat looking at her with a grin, and Sandor muttered something.   
“Do you have any rooms free? He needs to rest.”  
“We do, we have a few rooms.”  
Arya secured the room and half dragged Sandor to the bed, where he fell asleep immediately. She watched him for a moment, then went to her own room to sleep as well.   
They would leave in the morning to get back to Winterfell. 

******************************

Qyburn was sewing furiously. He hadn’t slept well since Cersei’s death. He’d attempted to speak with her council. But he’d been her Hand. He’d been the one to help her plan wars since Jaime’s departing. He’d been serving as her Maester as well since Pycelle’s death. He had been her Master of Whispers.  
The Mountain was dead, they’d found his remains on the rocks below Cersei’s chambers.  
Qyburn had hoped to plan what to do next, and had found only himself, a small council of one man, regent to the infant queen Joanna.  
She cried for her mother. She needed her mother.   
Qyburn was sewing together a doll from one of Cersei’s dresses. He hoped the scent and fabric would comfort her.  
He remembered hearing that Mad King Aerys had gotten a taster for his children’s wet nurse to ensure the babies would not be poisoned.  
It didn’t seem so mad now. Not when Cersei’s last living child depended on him for survival.   
He would see that she survived and he would avenge her mother. 

********************************

Jon had prepared his army and they would be leaving in a few hours with the Southern armies and Dany’s Unsullied. The Dothraki would stay behind. Tyrion had said it might be best not having two foreign armies join the fight at the capitol just yet, and nobody thought Daenerys was safe enough now to be left with no army to defend her.  
He sat at the table in the great hall with a mug of ale, trying to figure out what to say to Daenerys. He was leaving, and while Dany had been feverish and barely awake, he’d cursed himself for not telling her how much he loved her. Now she was well enough, conscious enough, and he found himself at a loss how to begin.   
He wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her he needed her, he loved her, he wanted her. But he wondered now if she still loved him. What if his coldness had destroyed the love she had offered? It had certainly destroyed her trust in him. She’d been terrified that day she’d seen him cutting his apple. He could not shake the image of her eyes, fixed on his dagger, how she’d thrown herself off the bed despite the pain she was in, to get away from him.  
He had poured the ale in the hopes of building enough courage to tell her, but found himself holding the mug and pondering. Soon he would be riding toward Kings Landing, and though it was a long trip, he did not want to start it with a fuzzy head from drinking.  
He took a deep breath and walked to her room. She was awake, to his surprise and relief, and sitting up in bed with a book.   
She smiled when she saw him.   
“Dany...I have to tell you something.”  
She had put her book aside when he’d entered the room and looked at him nervously now.   
“Is everything all right?”  
“Yes. I...I should have told you this.” He sat at the edge of her bed, taking her hand. “I love you.”  
“I love you,” she responded. “Please be careful. I hate that I can’t come with you.”  
“I hate that you’re in pain.”  
She laughed ruefully. “So do I,” she said.   
“Dany, I love you. I know I just said that. But...I should have said it more. I’m sorry. I thought...when I first found out you’d been poisoned, I thought it was as you said. That it was because of me. I can’t stand the idea of you being harmed. But if it’s because of my existence...I don’t think I can live with that. I thought you might die. And that day, you were with your dragons, I saw your room. Empty. I thought you were gone. Dany, there was nothing in this world or any other I wouldn’t have traded to have you back.”  
She looked at him tenderly, squeezing his hand. He saw hurt in her eyes, and he wanted to ask her why, what had hurt her.  
“I love you, Jon,” she said softly. “And I can’t live with it if you die because of me, either. Please be mindful.”  
“I will,” he said. “But...”  
“No buts. You told me your father said everything before the but is horseshit.”  
He laughed. “When did I tell you that?”  
“On your ship...In a dream,” she said softly.   
“Seems I did a lot of things in your dream.”  
She looked at him and her eyes were suddenly full of immeasurable hurt. “You did. As did I.”  
He wanted to ask her what else had happened, but he could hear his men leaving, voices calling to him.   
“The throne will be yours,” he promised her, and kissed her forehead. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her mouth. But the pain on her face stopped him.   
He stood.   
“Please...don’t do anything reckless,” she said. “It’s not too late, you don’t have to do this. Your men don’t have to-“  
“We do. Dany, we would not have stood a chance against the dead without you. We know this. We want to fight for you.”  
She looked almost childlike, her eyes wide as she looked up at him.  
“Do you think I...that I’ll be a good queen?”  
“Dany, you’ll be the best queen this realm has ever seen.”  
He turned and left the room. His hands were shaking. He’d told her now how much he loved her, but he couldn’t see whether it was not enough, or she didn’t believe him...or just didn’t love him that way anymore.

*******************************

Daenerys walked outside to stand with Sansa and their advisors to watch the armies depart from Winterfell. She had a knot in her stomach, part of which was that she could not know what would happen now. She’d outlived the vision of herself. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. She knew that Jon and the others were right, there could be no better time to seize the city. There was no reason for the dread mounting in the pit of her belly.   
She walked inside and sat down slowly. Sansa entered and sat down beside her.   
“Are you all right?” Sansa asked.  
“Yes,” she said softly. “You?”  
“Yes, but I’m not recovering from being poisoned.”  
“Do you feel like...like something is wrong?”  
Sansa frowned. “No. Why? Do you?”  
Dany nodded. “But I don’t know what.”  
“You’re probably just worried. Right now, our men are on their way to take the throne for you. It’s so close. Sometimes being so close to what you want is the most frightening.”  
“Maybe,” Dany said. She knew Sansa was right.   
You’re in the great game now, Tyrion had told her in Meereen. And the great game is terrifying.  
There was a commotion at the entrance, and Arya entered, half dragging a man who was cursing profusely.   
Sansa quickly approached them, called for Maester Wolkan, and Dany watched them disappear down the hallway. She wanted to help but knew she would only get in their way. She was not accustomed to being unable to help anyone, to do anything, and she was frustrated.  
She sat at the table, lost in her own thoughts.   
She hated being afraid, and what was worse, this was a fear with no clear object. It had been one thing to fear Scorpions and dead men and allies who were really enemies.  
But this was just a pit of dread that had settled in her ruined belly and would not ease back.   
Varys approached her, sitting beside her at the table.  
“I’m happy to see you took the antidote at last.”  
“Thank you, Lord Varys. I’d have died without it, and it was you who sent for it. You saved my life.”  
“I would credit Lord Willas with that more than myself. It was he who convinced you to take it.” He’d spoken lightly, but Dany could see his eyes fixed on hers, questioning.   
“I apologize for not trusting you,” she said softly. She couldn’t claim to trust him even now. She knew his loyalty could change in an instant. And if it did, he would not only leave her service, he would try to murder her.  
But in this matter, he’d only wanted to save her.  
“I understand,” he said. “You told me you didn’t trust me. It’s not as if you were dishonest about it. And I was remiss in my duties to you. I should have anticipated this and had it ready. If I’d done that, we would have had it right away, and it would have saved you a lot of pain and harm.”  
“If you could have gotten me to take it,” she said cynically.   
“Indeed. You fought like a wild thing against the milk of the poppy.”  
She sighed. “Trust does not come easily to me.”  
“And I imagine being poisoned didn’t help that,” Varys noted.  
“No.”  
“Is there anything I can do to help you?”  
She turned to him. “Do you know what’s happening at Kings Landing?”  
“Not much, sadly. The city is almost empty, and under siege; the queen is dead. No news is coming.”  
“Something doesn’t feel right,” she began, then stopped herself. Varys would think she was slipping into madness, wouldn’t he? “I know how that sounds,” she said.   
“It sounds like you’re anxious.”  
“I am. I know you’re just waiting for me to go mad like my father. And I know he saw enemies everywhere. But-“  
“Your Grace, I don’t think you’re like your father, and I’m not waiting for you to go mad. And perhaps I may have had reservations about accepting a statement such as that, before the last few moons. But since then-“  
“It’s not the same. Before I had a fairly clear idea of what could go wrong. I don’t know what’s going to go wrong. I just know...something is.”  
Varys frowned. “I’ll look into it,” he assured her. “I understand we are two people who do not trust easily. But I give you my word, I am not your enemy.” He stood and walked away, and she took a deep breath.  
Then, she stood herself and walked to the Godswood.   
As expected, Bran was sitting under the red leaves, and studied her as she approached as if he was expecting her.  
And he probably was, she thought.  
“Something is wrong,” she told him. “Do you know what it is?”  
He almost smiled. “The capitol has about two thousand soldiers to defend it. They’re no match for what’s coming. There are maybe thirty or forty civilians still in the city. Twelve of them are children. They don’t trust anyone and refused to evacuate, but with Cersei dead they won’t be executed.”  
“Is there...anything else?”  
“It’s hard to say. I can’t tell what Qyburn will do.”  
“Who’s Qyburn?”  
“Cersei’s Hand.”  
“What do you think he’ll do?”  
“I don’t read minds. He’s sewing.”  
“Sewing?” Dany frowned.   
“He is mostly alone. The people in Cersei’s small council have all died or betrayed her, except him; and now she’s dead. He’s not talking about his plans so I can’t see what he’ll do. He promised and swore to avenge her, but he didn’t say anything else.”  
Dany shivered. A man alone, with his queen murdered and all her allies dead or turned on her. She remembered well how such a situation might end.  
“Thank you,” she said.   
She turned and walked back inside, to the main hall where Sansa sat with Willas.   
“Do either of you know Qyburn?” She asked.  
Sansa looked blank but Willas nodded.  
“Not personally,” he said. “But I know he’s Cersei’s Hand.”  
“Bran said he’s there by himself, and he swore to Cersei he would avenge her.”  
“What do you think he can do?” Sansa asked.  
“I don’t know,” Dany said, frustrated.  
Willas was frowning thoughtfully. “Varys might have an idea. Maybe he can look into it.” He peered into her face, his eyes darkening in concern. “Are you all right? You look pale, you should rest. I’ll see if I can find anything out.” He stood, and took her arm, walking her to her room.   
She turned to him. “Lord Willas, please don’t think I’m going mad.”  
His face softened. “I could never think that, Your Grace.”  
“Something is wrong. We should send a raven and ask our armies to come back.”  
“If that’s what you wish to do, I’ll see to it. But I don’t think they’ll wish to return. They said this is the best time to take the capitol.”  
“ I know...they’re right...but...”  
“What do you think will happen?” He asked gently, as they entered her room.   
“I don’t know,” she said helplessly. She waited to see his face turn condescending, or worse, suspicious that she’d lost her sanity.   
Neither showed on his expression, only tenderness and concern. She laid on her bed. The pain in her belly was atrocious and she wondered if maybe it was that, or her terrible vision, that was making her afraid.  
She tried to tell herself that Sansa was right. That it was only the proximity to having all she’d ever wanted that was filling her now with terror. It was not a rational fear. It was an unfocused fear that permeated her endure being.   
She fell into a fitful sleep. 

*********************************

Tyrion was drinking heavily.  
He’d come from Jaime’s room. His brother was taking the loss of Cersei badly, as he’d expected, and he was worried. He had run into Podrick on his way, and the squire had offered his condolences. He and Ser Brienne had gone to practice, and Tyrion had sat with his brother.   
Jaime was drunk. He’d told Tyrion that Cersei was pregnant, sobbing brokenly.  
He was sick over leaving her. Tyrion had sat with him until Ser Brienne returned. Tyrion was grateful to Ser Brienne. He suspected that Jaime was holding on to life itself by a thread, and that thread was her.  
Tyrion sat now, alone, drinking.   
He had killed his father, left his family vulnerable, and it had destroyed them. And now there had been a babe. There could have been hope. That hope was gone now.  
If he had never written that letter, Jaime would not have left Cersei. She might still be alive and she would not have known Daenerys’s position to send an assassin. Daenerys would not be suffering permanent damage from a poisoning, Cersei would have had Jaime’s protection, and the babe...Tyrion shuddered.   
Varys approached him, sitting beside him.  
“How are you feeling?”  
“I’m feeling like I’m the worst person in the world. What about you?”  
“You are certainly not the worst person in the world. I can assure you of that.”  
Tyrion told him his thoughts about the letter. “If I hadn’t written it-“  
“You had only the best intentions.”  
“And yet, my sister is dead. Her babe is dead. My brother is a shell. My queen will suffer from permanent internal damage and she almost died. All because I wrote that letter. My intentions seem irrelevant in the face of that.”  
Varys sighed, but said nothing. He sat with Tyrion in silent support.  
It had been decided that they would be staying at Winterfell for an undetermined period. Maester Wolkan had firmly insisted that Daenerys shouldn’t travel, and most of the armies had left to take the throne.   
Lord Willas had sent for more provisions in gratitude for the Starks allowing them to stay.  
Tyrion hadn’t spent much time with the beleaguered queen since Cersei’s death.   
But he knew her well, and knew it must be weighing on her to send armies while she stayed behind. That hadn’t been her way since long before he’d met her.   
“How is our queen holding up?” Tyrion asked.   
Varys sighed. “She had Lord Willas send a raven asking the armies to come back. She thinks something terrible will happen but she has no idea what.”  
Tyrion frowned. He’d learned in the last few moons that it was wise to listen to Daenerys if she said something was wrong. But she usually had a pretty good idea of what that was.  
“I’m concerned,” Varys added. “I’ve received no word that anything is wrong at Kings Landing. This would be the ideal time to take the city. Her fears are incoherent. Her father-“  
“Varys, stop. You know she’s not like her father.”  
“I’m not saying she is. But her father didn’t go mad overnight. He had gone through that trauma with Duskendale and was never the same. It took years for him to become the monster he became.”  
“And you think because she fears for her men, she’s going mad? Varys, we both know Aerys would never have put his armies’ safety before a conquest.”  
“Perhaps not, but his madness began with irrational fears. She’s been poisoned, she had high fevers. She is quite clearly in love with Jon Snow, and he broke off whatever was happening there, likely because of their relation.”  
“Although I do think her coming close to death may have rearranged his priorities,” Tyrion noted. “And it’s not as if they’re siblings.”  
“I’m afraid her coming close to death may have rearranged her priorities,” Varys said thoughtfully.  
“I don’t see concern for the safety of her armies as a wasteful priority.”  
“But from whence does the concern come? She’s unable to say anything about what she thinks will happen.”   
“How did the officers respond to the ravens?”  
“I intercepted them.”  
“Why?” Tyrion stared at him.  
“Because there is no rational reason to call them back. It was folly for Lord Willas to send them in the first place, and I suspect he only did so because he’s in love with her.”  
“Lord Willas is not that kind of man.”  
“I’ve found that love makes even the wisest people ridiculous.”  
Tyrion felt himself starting to get angry. “Varys, the only reason Cersei knew where she was, was my letter. And she almost died. She’s made no move to punish me, and showed me only kindness when we found out Cersei died. If Daenerys was anything like her father...”  
“I’m not saying she is. I just promised her that I’m not her enemy. But you can’t deny that madness has run through her family-“  
“Maybe madness runs in every family. Maybe we just know more about the Targaryens because of how much power they’ve had.”  
“Or maybe generation upon generation of inbreeding actually brings it to the surface.”  
Tyrion stood up. “And what if something is truly wrong, Varys? Prophetic visions run in her family, too.”  
“You know my position regarding magic and prophecy. I’ve never been dishonest about that.”  
“And if the Targaryens had advisors with that position in the time of Daenys, there would be no Targaryens.”  
“We can spar about this all day. But it’s my duty to protect the people and ensure the queen’s well being. And her calling our men back because she’s been seized by unfounded fears after an intense poisoning that almost killed her, will do nothing to help her reputation.”  
Tyrion sighed. It was a valid point. “If something happens...”  
“If something happens I will apologize,” Varys said. “And if her fears present something more coherent, we will dispatch the ravens.”

****************************

Qyburn watched the night sky, clear and bright with stars, now the city was empty. The infant queen was asleep. Qyburn had received word that the armies of the North and the Vale would be arriving in a fortnight to join the Dornish and the Reach at the wall of Kings Landing. Soon most of Westeros would have their armies marching the streets of the capitol. And they would be incinerated by the green bursts of wildfire shooting from below the ground. It would avenge Cersei. And it would bring peace, wouldn’t it?  
If all the armies were gone, how could they continue to war? He thought of baby Joanna, and the world he would leave in her tiny hands, and smiled, his eyes bright.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First, I want to say, your comments are AWESOME! Very thought provoking, very thoughtful! Thank you so much! And thank you all for your kudos, you inspire me so much!   
So in this chapter Jon starts having dreams about what’s going to happen, they finally piece together the wildfire plan, and Jaime finds out his daughter is alive. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you all so much for reading my fic!

Chapter Fifteen 

Sansa could admit to herself that she liked it better when Jon was away from Winterfell. Nobody questioned her orders, and things ran smoothly. People considered her the highest authority. But that had changed somewhat and she found it disconcerting and, if she were being honest with herself, annoying. She had noted that increasingly the other women were asking Daenerys’s opinion on things. Sansa had expected it from Daenerys’s people who she’d brought with her, but when it was Sansa’s own Northern women asking, she could not deny the rancorous irritation it caused. It had started with hair and dresses, and then it had somehow turned into books, ideas, and then political questions that Northern women had no business asking a Southern queen.  
Sansa couldn’t even complain about resources at this point. Daenerys had been true to her promise, she’d brought provisions enough to last much longer than her stay. And then, Lord Willas Tyrell had sent for more.   
Lord Willas was far more handsome than Sansa had thought he would be. And he was attentive to her questions, and kind, but of course the moment Daenerys entered the room he watched her with an affection and tenderness that grated on Sansa’s nerves.  
Daenerys had been getting increasingly apprehensive. Sansa thought it was perhaps the pain she was in, and she couldn’t help but feel for her. Sansa had realized she’d been much harsher on the little silver haired queen than she should have, and when they were alone together she actually liked her. But her way of drawing attention to herself by doing nothing but existing was irritating.   
Sansa felt a moment of longing for when everyone blatantly ignored her, only watching her when they thought she wasn’t looking. She immediately pushed that thought away. It was cruel, served no strategic purpose, and was unbecoming.  
It seemed now, that Daenerys was anxious all the time, insisting something was wrong, and it had set Sansa on edge. She wished Arya would come sit with them, but of course Arya was busy sitting with The Hound, or outside practicing her fighting skills. She had no interest in learning cyvasse or needlepoint.   
Sansa and Daenerys had watched Willas and Tyrion play cyvasse, and Daenerys was terribly distracted and constantly asked if there had been any word from the armies.  
Sansa had said to her, in her most polite voice because Daenerys, for all her stunning dresses and intricate hairstyles, looked deathly pale and feverish, “You can rest assured that you’ll have your throne, Your Grace. You needn’t be impatient.”  
Daenerys had stared at her as if she’d been dragged from a nightmare and said, “No. I asked Lord Willas to send a raven asking them to come back.”  
“You want the armies to come back?”  
She nodded and Sansa started to wonder if maybe the poison had damaged her more than they’d thought.   
And then what was worse, Lord Willas had frowned, and agreed with her that they should have heard something back by now.   
Before the armies had left, all the men had agreed that now was the time. Even Yohn Royce had said so, and Randyll Tarly, and Jon.   
Tyrion and Willas halted the cyvasse game so that Willas could go outside and check again for returning ravens.  
Lord Tyrion had attempted to tell them some jokes, but Daenerys’s mind was clearly a thousand miles away.   
Sansa had only one true moment of satisfaction in the dragging days, and that was when beautiful Lady Wynafryd Manderly had visited. She sat with Sansa and Daenerys, and spoke about how handsome and brave Jon was. She’d asked if he was betrothed, announcing that she herself was not, and Daenerys had choked on her tea. Sansa tried not to sneer at her, rubbing her back gently, and innocently assuring Wynafryd that of course he wasn’t betrothed, and how wonderful it would be to have a true Northern woman as Queen in the North.   
But the hurt look Daenerys gave her robbed her of that satisfaction, and then Sansa had been awake half the night thinking about Wynafryd being Queen in the North.   
She vowed she would speak to Daenerys the next morning and try to make amends, but by then she was feverish again, and Maester Wolkan said this was exactly what he’d feared. That something inside her had been healing wrong and taken infection.   
Sansa entered Daenerys’s room quietly, with her needlepoint supplies. She had been trying to teach her and found it infinitely aggravating that the queen could manage to swing a sword, stand on dragons and loose arrows with deadly perfect precision, but couldn’t seem to grasp the art of needlework.   
But she’d been eager enough to learn, even if she was becoming far too obsessed about the armies returning to Winterfell.   
“Good morning, Your Grace. I brought the needlepoint supplies. I thought you might be bored just laying in bed.”  
Daenerys smiled at her weakly. Missandei was with her, and unlike Daenerys, she’d picked up the needlepoint so quickly that Sansa suspected she’d done it before, though she’d brightly assured her she hadn’t.  
“Good Morning,” Sansa said to Missandei, who greeted her back in a friendly enough manner, but Sansa could see that she was protective of her friend.   
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Sansa told Daenerys in a rush.  
“What happened yesterday?” Daenerys asked.  
“With Wynafryd.”  
“Oh.” Her face showed a flash of the hurt again, but then the fragile smile returned. “I understand. Of course she wants him. He’s perfect.”  
“He’s not perfect-“  
“And of course you would want him to marry a Northerner.”  
Sansa hesitated. “Lord Willas is very taken with you,” she said carefully. “He’s...rather perfect.” And then Daenerys’s face looked soft and affectionate, and Sansa felt her annoyance spike again.   
“Did he say anything about the ravens?” She asked.   
Sansa sighed. This again.   
“No, Your Grace.”  
“They should be back by now. The armies. Something is wrong.”  
“Your Grace-“  
“You can just call me Daenerys. We’re alone together. I’m sleeping in your home and have thoroughly overstayed my welcome.”  
“You are absolutely welcome here,” Sansa said, and that drew another weak smile from Daenerys. “But I think that maybe the armies decided to go anyway.”  
Daenerys’s eyes widened. “No! We have to send more ravens!”  
Sansa bit down on her annoyance. “I’ll see to it,” she said.  
“Thank you,” Daenerys murmured and fell back to sleep.  
Sansa smiled at Missandei and nodded, and left the room.   
She walked down the hall. May as well send the ravens, just to let the men know...what exactly? That the queen was sick with fever again, and insisted they cease the easiest conquest in Westerosi history?   
She sighed. Lord Tyrion was sitting in the hall drinking again, and Sansa approached him.   
“Your queen wants me to send more ravens. She’s insisting the armies should return.”  
Tyrion sighed. “She is set on it, isn’t she?”  
“I’m afraid something is wrong with her,” Sansa said. Tyrion looked at her sharply, and she continued, “I don’t mean to insult you. Or her. But Maester Wolkan said that she has some kind of infection-“  
“Infection?”  
Sansa realized that Lord Tyrion had likely just woken up, and he had been drinking more heavily since Cersei’s death. She sighed. “Her fever is back. The Maester said something might have healed wrong. There’s an infection.”  
Tyrion’s shoulders hunched, and he stared dejectedly into his goblet.  
“And forgive me, Lord Tyrion, but she...she sounds a little mad. Insisting our armies come back, when all the officers agreed that this was the best time to take the capitol. I thought she wanted the throne. Everyone thought she did. How will an opportunity ever present itself like this again? The city is empty, there’s no monarch. There would likely be no bloodshed. Does she...want bloodshed?”  
“She doesn’t want bloodshed, My Lady. She thinks our men are in danger.”  
“It seems to me they are in less danger taking Kings Landing now than they will be ever again.”  
Tyrion nodded, and he looked torn. “She’s not mad,” he said softly.  
“I told her I would send more ravens. But what exactly should I be writing to them? They’ll never listen.”  
Tyrion looked as though he himself had trouble trying to figure out what to say in the letter as well. “Maybe that...there might be some hidden danger. That they should reconsider storming the city at this time.”  
“Hidden danger? I’m not writing that! Then I’ll sound...feverish.”  
She had carefully avoided the word ‘mad’ seeing Tyrion’s defensive expression the first time, but truly, what was it but madness to oppose a bloodless conquest of the city she’d come to Westeros in order to take?  
“You could write it so that it’s clear it’s her words and not yours,” Tyrion assured her.  
Sansa nodded. This was a fair point, and of course they might think Daenerys had lost her sanity, but they’d expected that before they’d met her.  
It could be good for her own aims as well, Sansa thought. The Northerners had warmed up to Daenerys, and it was a point of contention to Sansa that one of the reasons for that was her promise to respect their independence, and yet sometimes Sansa suspected they were on the verge of dropping it at her feet.  
Jon’s unmitigated adoration of her hadn’t helped, and that had become quite apparent when she’d been poisoned.  
He himself had seemed to be touched with madness as he’d spent every waking moment at her side, or pacing like a caged wolf...or being ready to murder Lord Glover, Sansa remembered with a smile.  
Jon certainly hadn’t opposed Sansa’s taking Glover’s land and titles.   
Sansa didn’t think Daenerys was mad, truth be told, but fever and pain may have affected her ability to be objective.  
She hastily wrote the letter.  
She saw Lord Varys as she approached the Maester’s Turret, below the rookery.   
“Good morning, Lord Varys.”  
“Good morning to you, Lady Sansa.”  
“Your queen insists on sending another raven to the armies. Even though this would be the fastest and most bloodless conquest possible.”  
“She’s been unwell,” Lord Varys explained.  
“I realize that,” Sansa said, “but it seems like a silly thing to humor her. And it could be dangerous.”  
“Yet, we all must obey her, as she is our queen,” Lord Varys said lightly.   
“She’s not my queen,” Sansa protested hotly. “The North is independent.”  
“Of course. And it would benefit you and your brother...well, your cousin-“  
“He’s my brother,” she snapped.   
“The North in general, I suppose, to have the armies of Westeros think she’s gone mad.”  
Sansa narrowed her eyes. “Stop playing games and come to your point, Lord Varys,” she said, her voice like ice.  
Lord Varys smiled then. “Starks love to come right to the point.”  
“Get to it,” Sansa responded.   
“The poisoning has certainly enhanced our queen’s-forgive me, my queen’s-natural suspicious nature. She is in pain and unwell and seized by terrors. To stop the armies from taking the city now, when there are few to defend it, is folly at best. I do not wish for her to begin her reign with what could be a grievous mistake, nor do I wish the armies, whose trust and respect she worked so hard to win, to believe her to be mad, and too unstable to rule. And it’s as you said, it’s silly to humor her.”  
Sansa sighed. “When the armies receive the raven, they can decide whether or not to heed her request. But I told her I would send one, so that’s what I’m going to do.”  
She turned from him and walked to the Maester’s Turret, leaving the letter with instructions to send it.

********************************

The trip across Westeros to Kings Landing had been disheartening. Burnt out inns, destroyed farms, scorched land, and ruins stretched out around the Kingsroad, which was in many places cracked and overgrown. They met few people along the road, and those they did see appeared afraid, as if they’d been hurt and plundered by passing armies before, or they were resigned; another army marching, another war. Jon hoped this would be the last war.  
Worse, Jon had been suddenly plagued with terrible dreams. In some, Kings Landing was a burnt out ruin. In others, Daenerys was poisoned again, or deathly ill, and she would grab at him, her eyes bright with fever. “Come back to Winterfell. Please, Jon. Can you hear me? Please.”  
He woke from those dreams shivering, and had to fight the urge to ride back to her.   
As they drew closer, he’d begun dreaming about the city bursting into unnatural green flames, and a knot had formed in his belly that would not loosen.   
He had been through so many battles. Why should this one give him such trepidation? In truth, they were not even expecting a battle. Few men remained to Cersei’s army, Cersei herself was gone, the city had been evacuated.   
Another day or two, and they would be at Kings Landing. He’d promised Dany he would take the throne for her, and he would keep that promise.   
They were setting up camp for the night.   
He wondered as they neared the end of the journey, if Dany realized what she was getting into with ruling this continent. War had all but destroyed it, and winter was settling in.   
The time that should have been spent coming together, uniting, to gather food and supplies for winter, had instead been spent at war. She’d fought the dead by his side, she’d been poisoned by her enemy, she’d built so much and worked so hard for so long, only to win a continent devastated by war and impending famine.  
He’d told her he didn’t want the throne, and even more so now.  
But her fragile voice the night she’d written the will came back to him.  
You are the shield that guards the realms of men, she’d told him. Is protector of the realm really so different?   
He would never consider taking it from her. But he couldn’t imagine leaving her to face this alone.   
He remembered Ser Davos suggesting that he marry her.  
He had felt a rush at the idea of it. The thought of having her by his side and in his bed until the end of their days, had thrilled him beyond words. But he’d still believed he was a bastard. How could he hope to marry her? Yet, she’d loved him. And now...but no. He had destroyed their love, he knew dismally. He’d frozen her out and now he knew she did not love him as she had.  
Lord Willas would likely seize the opportunity to marry her, he thought bitterly. The man was heir to Highgarden. He would be Lord Paramount of the Reach one day, and even winter didn’t damage the Reach as badly as other kingdoms. Most of the wars hadn’t touched the land and by the time it had, the Tyrells had moved everything of value.   
Dany had been right about the man, Jon had to concede. He was wise, compassionate, with a firm but gentle cunning he had to admire despite himself.  
But she loves me, Jon thought stubbornly.   
He thought again about her smile, about her strength, about her hungrily devouring him as he entered her wet and welcoming sex.  
He shook his head to dispel the image. Now was not the time to get lost in lustful imaginings.   
He turned his mind again to her willingness to fight beside him, even while attempting to figure out ways to fight the dead army herself if the North fell.   
He remembered her telling him her plan if the North fell to the Night King.  
My father had hidden caches of wildfire all over Kings Landing, she’d told him. She had planned to trap the dead in the city and...  
Jon felt suddenly cold.  
He walked over to Ser Davos. “Could I have a word?”  
“Of course, Your Grace.”  
The two men walked away from the others, far enough from the camp to be unheard, but still close enough to jump into action if they were attacked.  
“You’ve seen wildfire, haven’t you? I mean you’ve seen it ignite.”  
Ser Davos frowned. “Unluckily,” he agreed.  
“Is it green?”  
“It is, yes. A terrible lurid green that burns on water.”  
“King Aerys hid caches of it all over Kings Landing.”  
“I’ve heard about that. Some people say it’s a rumor.”  
“Dany said it was true.”  
“Hard not to believe her, after the destruction of the Sept. So are you thinking that’s going to be a problem for us?”  
Jon sighed. “I dreamed that the wildfire ignited. That the city burst into flames. I knew how it sounds...but I can’t stop thinking about it now.”  
Ser Davos nodded. “Well, lets see if we can hold off charging until we find out more.”  
To Jon’s frustration, when he’d presented the idea of waiting to the other officers, they had not been inclined to agree.   
Randyll Tarly had looked at him as if he were personally disappointed.  
“You can hold your own armies back if you like. If you’re afraid. I’m sure we can take the throne for our queen without your Northern armies.”  
“You know there are caches of wildfire under the city, don’t you?” Jon challenged.  
“As there have been for decades. You know they don’t spontaneously detonate, don’t you?” Tarly shot back. “Cersei is dead. You may have spent so much time battling dead men that you now fear ghosts. I suppose that’s understandable,” he added and to Jon’s surprise, he sounded sincere. “I will never forget that dead army, and I only fought them the once. But I don’t have any fear Cersei’s ghost will set off the wildfire. There are armies waiting at the capitol for moons now. I’m sure they’ll be eager to storm the city as well. You can enter last.”  
Jon was not satisfied with that. Watching the other armies enter a city and be burned to ashes while his own army brought up the rear would be a horror. And then Dany, what would they tell her?   
They wouldn’t listen, he realized, and remembered years of trying to warn people of the army of the dead. They hadn’t listened then either.   
He felt the despair he’d grappled with for years settling in again. Dany would listen, he knew. But how could he reach her? The time it would take a raven to reach Winterfell, to entreat her to call off the march, might already be too long. But then by the time she sent a raven back, it would be too late.   
Dragons fly much faster than ravens, he thought, and he shut the thought down immediately. She was not well enough to ride Drogon, and he would not risk her life. He had no doubt in his mind she would come to them. If he told her his fears, she would fly to them herself to call off the march, or die trying.   
He shuddered. He could not take the chance that his fearless little queen would perish in the attempt to save them, and he knew unequivocally she would.  
Gods, he loved her. He had promised her he would take that throne for her. But he knew her, he knew her heart. If Jon and the armies of Westeros, her dear friends Ser Jorah and Grey Worm, her Unsullied, all died in the attempt, it would shatter her.  
He paced angrily. He considered for a moment forging a note from her. Telling the men that she’d called off the march.   
But what reason could he give? The officers had agreed that this was the ideal time. He himself had said so, before the nightmares.   
He would make her sound mad with paranoia, the very thing that was her greatest fear, if he tried to claim she had called off the march.  
Of course, once it was done and the danger avoided, he could always confess it had been his own fears.  
But then, forging the seal of the queen was an illegal act. He knew she wouldn’t execute him, or even punish him. But then would that weaken her? Set a precedent? What about the next person who decided to forge her seal?  
He thought about the war with the dead. How little he’d thought of politics.   
But this was her war. Shouldn’t they do as she’d commanded? Didn’t he owe her that?  
Ser Davos approached him and advised him to get some rest.   
He knew he should, and he laid down in his tent and allowed the night terrors to take him again.

************************

Tyrion had sat in Daenerys’s room all afternoon, watching her sleep. The fever had returned, but it wasn’t from the poison now. In some ways this was worse.   
He’d finally left the room when Lord Willas came in, as they’d decided to follow the rotation schedule Jon had devised when she was still in the grip of poison. Next it would be Sansa, then at dinner Missandei would feed Daenerys then eat in her room.   
He felt the weight of guilt, and eclipsing that, a hollow sense of loss. Loss for a world that would be darker and more hopeless, he knew, without her in it.  
He found also that he couldn’t shake the guilt of his keeping Varys’s actions quiet. Daenerys kept asking, every time she woke, if the armies had returned.   
He had to agree with Varys that she sounded incoherent, fevered. But the sheer depth of her fear had started to frighten him as well. What if she was right, what if some disaster awaited the armies? Tyrion had a hand in it now, and he was angry at Varys for putting him into this position.   
He walked to Varys’s chambers.   
“What if you’re wrong?” He demanded without preamble.   
Varys sighed. He didn’t ask what Tyrion referred to, he knew. “I’m only trying to help her. You heard the officers. This is the time. This could be the first bloodless conquest in history. It’s what we wanted. It’s what she wanted. If she calls it off, what then? Eventually the refugees at Dragonstone will want to go back to Kings Landing. There would be civilians caught up in the attack.”  
“What attack, Varys? Who do you think we will attack? Most of Westeros is with her, her enemies are gone.”  
“I know she’s persuasive. I know when she speaks it’s hard to be objective. Even Lady Stark got pulled in. She knows the queen sounds mad, and yet she was going to send a raven anyway.”  
“And you talked her out of it,” Tyrion said grimly.  
“Alas, no. I had to intercept her raven as well.”  
Tyrion lowered his head into his hands. “Varys...if something happens...”  
“What is it you think will happen?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“It’s not enough, my friend. Unfounded fears based on a feverish queen’s nightmares and anxiety are not enough to forgo a conquest that will result in no lives lost, when waiting could cause the spilling of blood.”  
“She said...remember, when she said that Euron Greyjoy would attack Lady Greyjoy. She said if she was wrong and she followed them, it would cost us a few days. But if she was right and didn’t follow them, it would cost us Dorne and the Iron Islands.”  
“And you opposed her plan anyway, if I remember correctly. She had a clear idea of what the danger was, and a logical reason for it, yet you opposed her. This...it’s just unfounded. You realize that poison can cause this kind of paranoia. It took her a long time to earn the respect of the North and the Southern Lords. Would it do her any good for us to allow her to appear as the kind of queen who puts her fevered dreams above rational logic?”  
Tyrion sighed. “If you’re so sure this is safe, why can’t we hold off for a few weeks?”  
“Once the civilians return to Kings Landing, the risk will be higher. I’ll not put innocents at risk.”   
They sat in silence for a moment, and Tyrion wondered if he himself should send a raven. He didn’t want Daenerys to appear mad any more than Varys did. But she’d been right too many times in the past to ignore her now.  
“If I send a raven and you intercept it, I can never forgive you,” Tyrion said.  
“You can try. They’re too close now. A raven will not reach them in time to stop them from taking the city. The throne will be hers and all you’ll do is sow doubt in the minds of the men who followed her.” Tyrion sighed, and Varys continued. “There is no real risk. Your sister was ruthless. But she’s gone. It’s an empty city with no monarch. Try to think of the future. Of the lives that would be lost in the sack of the city once the civilians return.”  
Tyrion knew Varys was right, he knew Daenerys was not well, and her fears were probably unfounded.   
“She’s the queen,” Tyrion took one last stab. “We’re supposed to follow her commands.”  
“And I’ve told her already, I will not reward incompetence with blind loyalty. And calling off a bloodless march, waiting until the people return, would be incompetent.”  
“She’s not incompetent, Varys. And she’s not mad.”  
“I didn’t say she was either of those things, under normal circumstances. But she’s not well right now. Her decisions are questionable.”  
The two men left the room and walked toward the hall. Supper would be served soon, and Tyrion wasn’t hungry but he was looking forward to more wine. He needed it, badly. 

***********************

The nightmares were almost constant now, and Dany would have tried to avoid sleep all together if she could, but that wasn’t possible even at her best, at her strongest. She was tired all the time now. Sitting with her dragons was the only peace she had.  
Why were the armies ignoring her ravens?   
She laid in bed, staring dully at the ceiling, tears streaming her face. Jon...she thought weakly. Jon, even in that other life, before I’d ever seen a wight, I came for you. I lost Viserion to come for you. I listened even though you sounded like a madman. Please heed my warning. Please don’t do this.  
And then the echo of a memory flitted through her mind.  
That night in her vision, when she’d begged him not to tell anyone about his parentage. She’d known what would happen. Those same words, the same tears. Pleading with him.  
Please don’t do this.  
But he’d disregarded her fears, her pleas, her tears, and did it anyway.   
She’d adhered to his request to join his fight for the dawn, had lost a dragon trying to save him, even though his tale had sounded ludicrous to her. Yet he had disregarded her pleas completely, though it would have cost him nothing to wait, to tell his family after she had the throne.  
He might easily disregard her request now.  
And he would die.  
She shuddered in dread. Please...  
She fell asleep, tears still staining her face.  
She stood on a vast ruined countryside. She could see armies setting up camp, all their banners, and high above them, her own.  
She saw Jon, and she rushed to him.   
His dark eyes fixed on hers. She stared at him, at his lush mouth that looked soft but felt firm and possessive, at those hands that felt rough but were infinitely tender.   
“Come back to Winterfell,” she begged him. “Please, Jon. Can you hear me? Please.”  
The dream faded as voices urged her back.   
Sansa and Missandei stood over her, their eyes dark.  
“You looked like you stopped breathing,” Missandei whispered.   
“I’m breathing,” she assured her, squeezing her hand.  
“You need to eat something. I’m going to get you some soup.” Missandei glanced at Sansa.  
“I’ll stay with her,” Sansa said, sitting down.  
“Did the armies come back?”  
“No, Your Grace.”  
“Did they send ravens?”  
“No. I’m sorry. Maybe they got held up.”  
Dany noticed Sansa was wearing her hair much like her own now, and Sansa smiled as she caught her gaze.   
“I copied your hair,” she confessed.  
Dany smiled weakly. “The Dothraki wear their hair in braids. If they’re defeated they have to cut it. I just...started adding braids for every victory.”  
Sansa frowned. “I’ve never won a victory.”  
“Yes, you have. Jon told me they would have lost the Battle of the Bastards if you hadn’t gotten the Knights of the Vale.”  
“But he won the victory.”  
“You both did. And every scar you have is a victory. Every fallen enemy.”  
“I wasn’t the one to kill all my enemies.”  
“But you’re alive. That’s a victory.” Dany sighed. “I guess I’ll have to cut my own.”  
“Why?”  
She waved her hand, indicating her weakness. “This is a defeat.”  
“You’re alive and she’s dead. I’d say you should be adding another braid.”  
“Has there been any word from the armies?” She asked again.   
“No. I would have told you right away,” Sansa said patiently, as if she hadn’t just asked. “What is it you think will happen?”  
“I don’t know.”  
She shuddered. She felt the pain bore down on her again, and she fell back to sleep.   
The dark dreams returned.   
She heard distantly Sansa leaving, Missandei’s soft voice urging her to eat.  
Later, she thought.   
She was trapped in a nightmare of her own making now. Flying over Kings Landing and burning it. Why, why had she done it? Anger and grief and anguish.   
Over and over, a sea of flames, sudden bursts of bright green, blooming in the yellow and orange...her blood turned to ice.   
Green. Green fire. Wildfire.  
She tried to push herself awake now, hurling herself from her bed to the floor.  
“Daenerys!” Missandei rushed to her side. “Are you all right?”  
“It’s the wildfire,” she said, her voice ragged and half sobbing. She pushed herself up and Missandei assisted her. “I have to find out...I have to...”   
She stood shakily and stumbled into the hallway. 

Tyrion entered the hall, followed by Varys. Lady Sansa was sitting with Lord Willas, and when Tyrion approached, they both turned to him.   
“We’ve received no response from our ravens,” Lady Sansa said.   
Tyrion sighed, glanced at Varys, who watched them impassively.   
“It’s odd,” Lord Willas added. “I could understand them continuing, despite the queen’s command, although that alone would be strange. But to refuse to even respond...I must admit I’m concerned.”  
But that conversation halted as Jaime stormed drunkenly into the hall, Ser Brienne right behind him holding his arm, trying to pull him back. He walked directly to Arya, who was gathering stew and bread, no doubt to eat with The Hound, and she turned at his approach.  
“You killed her. You killed her, didn’t you?”  
The room grew silent now, but Arya just looked at him with no expression.   
“Jaime...” Tyrion began, walking slowly toward him.  
“She was pregnant,” Jaime stormed, his voice breaking.  
“She wasn’t pregnant,” Arya said.   
“She was,” Jaime was yelling now.   
Arya turned to Bran, as if for confirmation, who sat near the fireplace, his eyes fixed on some point far away.   
Tyrion attempted to step between Jaime and Arya, glancing at Brienne who was doing the same, her love for both of them twisting her expression into anguish.  
As if Tyrion didn’t have enough pain and distress, Daenerys stumbled into the hall, supported by Missandei. She was wearing a wrinkled nightgown that was soaked to her skin with sweat, the single braid Missandei had fashioned into her hair, tangled and loose.   
Tyrion had to admire Missandei, who held her head high in support of her queen, despite said queen’s extremely visible form under her nightgown and wild eyed expression.  
Varys glanced at Tyrion in consternation, then began to approach her.  
“Your Grace,” he began, but she ignored him.  
“Ser Jaime,” she said, her voice nearing hysteria, and then she launched herself across the room at him, almost falling.  
To Jaime’s credit, Tyrion thought, he caught her, gently lifting her and depositing her into a chair. “Your Grace,” he said carefully.   
“Wildfire...can Qyburn...can he...does he know how to detonate it?” She asked him, her voice broken with gasping sobs.  
“I should think so,” Jaime said, glancing uncomfortably at Lord Willas. “My sister certainly didn’t. He detonated it to burn the Sept of Baelor.”  
Daenerys was shaking violently, all color drained from her face. She turned to Bran, then shot out of the chair to rush across the room and fall in front of him.   
“Bran!” She was weeping. “Bran, please...”  
Bran’s eyes slowly focused onto her face. He looked at her, his eyes sad, and almost tender.   
“What is he doing? Qyburn.” She asked him.  
“He’s doing...exactly what you think he’s doing.”  
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She demanded.  
“I didn’t know. I didn’t know what I was looking for.”  
“Did they get my ravens? The armies. They won’t storm the city. They won’t...I told them, I commanded them...” her voice was pleading now, broken by desperate gasping sobs.  
Bran turned to Varys.   
“Would you like to tell her?” He asked.  
Varys was almost as pale as Daenerys now. He stepped forward.  
“Your Grace...I intercepted the ravens.”  
She stared at him. “Why?”  
“Your command to halt the march and retreat to Winterfell had no rational support. I...” Varys glanced at Tyrion, who was staring at him in horror. He wanted to thunder at him, to yell and scream, but he could only stand in terrible shocked silence. “I apologize,” Varys said.  
“You intercepted my raven too?” Sansa demanded, standing.  
“I did.”  
“If I am to understand the situation,” Lord Willas said, his voice calm but almost vibrating with an undercurrent of rage, “Qyburn is going to detonate the wildfire under the city?” He was moving across the room, and despite his crippled leg, he carefully helped Daenerys to a chair. “Is he planning to do this once the armies storm the walls?”  
“He’s going to open the gate,” Bran said. “He’s going to let them in. He told the babe. He told her his plan. He’s already begun. Once all the armies are in the city, he expects the wildfire to ignite. I couldn’t read his mind, but once he told the babe I knew what I was looking for.”  
“What babe?” Tyrion asked him.  
“Joanna. Cersei’s baby.”  
Tyrion turned sharply to Jaime, who had already turned ashen and now dropped weakly into a chair.   
“She had the baby?”  
“We need to send ravens NOW,” Daenerys interrupted. “To command them to halt. It has to be right away.”  
“It’s too late,” Bran said. “They’re going to do it in the next day. A raven will never get to them in time.”  
There was a silence now, heavy with shock.   
“You had no right to do this,” Sansa spat at Varys.   
“I had to think about-“  
“It really doesn’t matter what you were thinking about,” she snapped.  
“Every one of our men could die,” Willas said, “they’ll be burned alive. Because you not only disobeyed our queen, you outright defied her.”  
“We should at least try to send ravens,” Tyrion said.   
Missandei rushed to Daenerys’s side, her own face a mask of barely controlled rage. Tyrion turned to her, and realized Daenerys was standing, holding on to Missandei’s arm. Her eyes were lit with such incendiary fury that Tyrion wondered if Varys could physically feel it.  
“I should have listened to you, Your Grace, but-“  
“Yes. You should have. We’ll have a discussion about it when I return, if I return. You can be sure of it.”  
She turned to walk back to her room.   
“Return?” Tyrion called out after her.  
“Where are you going?”  
She glanced back at them. “Dragons are faster than ravens.”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is basically Part One of the wildfire mess.   
I hope you enjoy it, and as always, feedback is so deeply appreciated!   
Thank you all for reading!   
I hope you enjoy it! :-)

Chapter Sixteen

Daenerys was shaking with anger.   
She focused on the anger, because anger made her strong. Anger filled her with fire.  
All fear had done was eat away at her.  
Of course, the poison had eaten at her too, and the pain was undeniable. But she could not let it win, at least not now.   
She tore her nightgown off, and forced herself to pull on clothing suitable to ride.   
“Your Grace, you aren’t well enough for what you mean to do,” Missandei said. But the anger and fear warred in her eyes as well.  
Grey Worm and the rest of the Unsullied had left with the other armies to take the city. He would burn with the rest of them if Dany didn’t get to them in time.  
“I must,” Dany said.   
Missandei started to help her get dressed, and Daenerys felt a surge of gratitude and affection for her. She knew Missandei was torn between her fear for Dany’s safety and her trust in Dany to save the man she loved from a horrific death.   
There was a knock at the door, and Dany snapped, “come in,” as her fingers fumbled trying to pull her clothing on.   
Sansa entered the room, followed by Tyrion.   
“What exactly are you planning to do?” Sansa asked her.  
“I’m going to fly to Kings Landing and warn them.”  
“You can barely walk.”  
“It’s fortunate then that I’m not walking,” she said.   
“Your Grace,” Tyrion said, “what if you fall off your dragon and die?”  
“Then I die trying to save my Unsullied, and the armies who have chosen to do me the honor of fighting for me.” She turned to him. “Did you know?” She demanded. He looked away, flushing, and she couldn’t tell if it was because she was in stages of undress or if it was guilt. “Lord Tyrion. Did you know he was intercepting the ravens?”  
He sighed. “I did. But-“  
“Get out.”  
“Your Grace-“  
“I can’t talk to you right now, Lord Tyrion. I’m too angry.”   
“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I truly am.”  
“So am I. Get out.”  
He turned and left the room, and she and Missandei continued getting her clothing on.   
“He has a point,” Sansa said softly. “You could be killed doing this. You said yourself you aren’t well enough.”  
“If I don’t try to warn them, they will die. I can’t let that happen.”  
“But if you-“  
“Lady Sansa, I mean no offense, but you can help me or get out of my way. I don’t have time for this.”  
Sansa hesitated, then joined Missandei in helping her get dressed.   
They helped her walk out of the room. “I have to speak with Bran,” she said.   
They guided her to the hall, and the faces of the people there were still pale from the revelation. A few of the women were crying. Dany hurt for them. Their sons, their brothers, their fathers, were marching toward a trap that would burn them to ash.   
No, her mind rebelled. No, I will get to them.  
“Bran,” she said, and he turned to her. “The civilians...where in the city are they?”  
“They’re In Flea Bottom, mostly. The children are together.”  
“How many?”  
“The same as before. They never left.”  
“Twelve children?”  
“Yes.”  
“And what of Cersei’s babe? Will she be safe?”  
“Qyburn will keep her safe.”  
Jaime spoke up then. “Will you harm her?”  
Daenerys looked at him in horror. “Of course not. I just needed to know if I must search for her or...”  
“You won’t,” Bran said. “Qyburn has a route to get her out, he’ll do it when the first explosions begin.”  
Lord Willas stepped toward her, his eyes fierce. “Your Grace...is there no other way to save them?”  
“None that I know,” she said.   
“Please...please be as careful as you can.” She could see in his face a terrible fear. This is how his father died, she thought. His sister and brother. Wildfire. And now his armies were walking straight into the same horror.  
She reached for his hand, squeezed it.   
“I will,” she said. She wanted to promise him that she would get to them in time, but she couldn’t. She turned back to Bran. “How much time do I have?”  
“A day. Maybe.”  
She looked at the others in the room who were looking back at her with a desperate, hopeless hope. “I promise you I will do all in my power to get to them.”  
She turned then to go outside, still supported by Missandei and Sansa, and as she approached her dragons, she spoke softly to them. She climbed up Drogon’s wing with some difficulty.  
“Thank you,” she called down to Missandei and Sansa.  
“Please be safe,” Missandei called up to her.  
She nodded at her.   
“I will try,” she promised. “Soves,” she murmured to Drogon and he took off into the sky, followed by his brothers.  
Her heart hammered in her chest. She knew she might not have time, and she was sick with dread that she would get there only to find a burned city and all those men who had pledged themselves to her, dead. Grey Worm, and Ser Jorah, two of her dearest friends. And Jon...no, no, no...I will get there in time, I must.   
She had told Jon in that other life that faith in herself had kept her standing through all those years of exile.   
She had to have faith. Faith in herself, faith in Drogon to carry her.   
She could not allow the fear clawing at her to win, or to gain any ground.   
She urged Drogon to fly faster, faster. She buried her head in his massive shoulders as the wind stung her face.   
I must not fear, she commanded herself. 

************************

The Great Hall was silent in the wake of Daenerys’s departure, and Sansa sat at the head table, trying not to wrap her arms around herself in fear. The women looked to her for strength. Arya was sitting beside her now, as if she sensed Sansa’s need for support.   
Sansa had walked about the room to offer comfort, and could now only sit and wait.  
Lord Willas sat beside her, and his usually gentle brown eyes were snapping with anger at Varys, who sat quietly under the silent storm of rage from the others in the room. To his credit, he was visibly horrified by what he’d done. He was pale and looking down at his hands.   
“May I ask, why did you intercept the ravens?” Sansa demanded, unable to keep still for another minute.  
“She couldn’t define what she thought was going to happen,” Varys said heavily. “We all knew this could be a bloodless conquest, and it seemed irrational to call off a march to certain victory because of her feverish nightmares. Her having a bad dream, did not seem a valid reason to do this. I didn’t want her supporters to believe she’d gone mad.”  
“So you thought it worth putting our men at risk to-“  
“I didn’t think there was a real risk. You said yourself she sounded mad. She couldn’t say what she thought was wrong.” Varys paused, taking the letter out from his robe. “This is your letter, My Lady. Listen to this, and be fair in your assessment,” he said to the others. “The Queen wishes for you to return to Winterfell, as she feels there may be some hidden danger and would like to reconsider storming the city at this time,” he read, then looked back at her. “How would that sound? How do you think the armies would respond to this? What do you think the officers would make of this?” He demanded.  
“The Unsullied army would respect our queen’s wishes and return,” Missandei told him, her voice edged with steel.  
“No doubt they all would, but the people of Westeros would not wish to follow a queen who puts delirious nightmares over certain victory. I feared she would seem unstable. I had no doubt she would regret it once the people of Kings Landing returned to the city and would be in the crossfire of future battles. Her reputation is an important factor considering her...family history.”  
“So what you are saying,” Willas said, “ is that you defied the queen and endangered the armies of every Kingdom in Westeros who still has an army, because you were afraid the queen would be the subject of gossip?”  
Varys sighed. “I didn’t believe her,” he finally said. “And she offered no coherent argument.”  
“You realize that thousands could die. She could die trying to rescue them,” Willas said.   
“I’m sorry for that,” Varys said. “It was not at all my intention. Truly, my intention was to protect the people of Kings Landing. I feared they would return to the city and be killed in the crossfire of a future battle. And to protect Queen Daenerys from the rumors of madness that plague her family.”  
The room fell silent again. Sansa kept stealing glances at Willas. He was angry and worried, it was clear on his face.  
He’s in love with Daenerys, Sansa thought, just like everyone else who lays eyes on her.   
But Daenerys was in love with Jon.   
Sansa wanted so badly to think about that, she wanted back all those petty concerns she’d had just yesterday, just that morning. That if Jon married Daenerys she would be Queen in the North, and all Seven Kingdoms would be hers; that if he didn’t, Daenerys would in all likelihood marry Willas; why wouldn’t she? He was handsome and kind, and knowledgeable. And Lady Wynafryd might marry Jon then, and she would be Queen in the North. But those thoughts that had driven anxiety into her mind like nails, were suddenly pale wisps of fear from another life, and they meant nothing.  
Because now Jon might die. All the men of the North might die. Sansa would be left as the queen, yes. But queen of heartsick, broken women and children who had lost their husbands, fathers, brothers; and they would have no army to protect them. How would they rebuild the glass gardens? How would they make it through winter?   
All the realm would suffer, really. Who would protect any of them? For all Varys’s high handed, self righteous claims to care about the realm first, he had endangered it.  
Arya kept getting up to pace the room, restlessly, angrily.  
Arya had much less experience than Sansa had with just sitting helplessly and waiting.   
Daenerys should have brought Arya with her, Sansa thought. She could have ensured that the ailing queen wouldn’t fall from her dragon to her death, and would be much more effective at calling down to armies to halt, than a woman whose voice had all but left her.   
Sansa watched her pacing. Her nervous movements reflected Sansa’s own inner turmoil.   
Sansa stood and walked outside. She needed air. Her mind was racing, and every thought was of her army, and her brother, dying in the flames of a ruined city.   
She heard the crunch of footsteps on the snow behind her, and turned to see Willas approaching her.   
“Are you all right?”  
She nodded, but tears filled her eyes. “I’m so stupid,” she said. “I didn’t listen to her, I thought she sounded mad, and now my brother and our men are probably going to die.”  
“You may have thought she sounded mad, but you sent the letter anyway. You are not to blame for this.”  
“I should have realized it was taking too long.”  
“You did. We both did. This is Varys’s doing. Whatever his intentions were, he’s brought this on and now...” he broke off and she could see raw anguish in his eyes.   
“You’re worried about Daenerys.”  
“I’m worried about all of them. I have cousins in the army, who’ve been holding Kings Landing under siege for moons. But yes, I’m very concerned about Queen Daenerys. She’s said herself she is not well enough to make this trip.”  
“I told her that. When she was getting dressed to go, I told her exactly that.”  
“What did she say?”  
“She said to help her get dressed or get out of her way.”  
Willas laughed softly. “That sounds like her.” Then he hesitated. “My grandmother and I tried to talk her out of coming here.”  
“Why?”  
“She had advised your brother to move South to buy more time. She offered him the resources to do it. She was concerned for the safety of her men coming here. He refused to listen to her. We didn’t want her to get killed by the dead.”  
“But she came anyway.”  
“She said she couldn’t stand the idea of people dying if she could help.”  
Sansa sighed, remembering Jon saying the same thing, how difficult it had been for Sansa to believe it.   
“She’s perfect, isn’t she?” Sansa couldn’t keep the bitter sarcasm out of her voice, but Willas laughed again.   
“I don’t know if she’s perfect. She’s reckless and impetuous. She likes things to be done her way. She’s frighteningly disregarding of her own safety. I’ve heard her temper is fearsome. She is not particularly gifted with political maneuvering, and she’s far more idealistic than practical. But she’s one of the best people I’ve ever known. She’s easily the bravest. I wish she could have known my sister,” he added sadly.  
“Your sister was very good at political maneuvering.”  
Willas smiled, his eyes tender. “She was.”  
“Margaery was always kind to me,” Sansa said. “I felt like I didn’t have a single friend when I was at Kings Landing, or anyone who cared about me at all, and she...she said she wanted to be friends...” Sansa’s eyes filled suddenly with tears. Margaery would never have treated an ally the way Sansa had treated Daenerys. Margaery was just as smart as Cersei, probably smarter than Littlefinger, but she’d achieved her goals through understanding people and being kind to them.   
“I miss her,” Willas said, and his voice was low.   
“I do too,” Sansa said. She hadn’t even realized how much she’d missed her, how she’d hurt at her loss. Sansa had had so many losses that had left her numb, so she hadn’t even been able to recognize it.  
Sansa thought suddenly how terrible this must be for him. His cousins and the woman he loved were in danger of dying as his father, brother and sister had.  
“Are you all right?” She asked.  
He glanced at her. “I’m...as you said, I’m worried.”  
“She might make it there on time,” Sansa offered. “She can be pretty determined when she wants to.”  
He smiled at her. “Let’s hope she does”.  
They stood together watching the snow fall.   
Sansa was hurting. She had allowed herself to become so hardened. She was suspicious because she had to be. She’d gone through too much to lose everything now.   
But Willas was right, she had sent the letter at Daenerys’s request. She had tried.   
And Varys had stopped those ravens.  
Fear was coursing through her, and she hated to feel once again helpless in the face of terror. She was ashamed now of having felt relieved that Jon was not at Winterfell to question her authority. What if he didn’t come back? Even if Daenerys got to the armies in time to warn them, Sansa knew very well that if any men had entered the city, once the wildfire detonated, Jon would rush in to help them make their way out. It was just his way, to put his own safety aside to save everyone else. And maybe he would die there.   
She was powerless, and she had sworn she would never be powerless again.  
All they could do was wait.

**************************

Tyrion was exhausted.   
He sat in Varys’ chamber, at a loss for words.   
He waited. Once Jaime had finally returned to his own rooms with Brienne, once they’d convinced him it would be sheer folly to attempt to make it to Kings Landing to retrieve his child, that it would be far better to wait and seek Bran’s counsel on where and how to find her, Tyrion had gone to Varys.   
The man stood at the window in silence, watching the storm of snow outside.   
So Tyrion waited.   
He drank his wine and for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he had no idea what to say.  
He had intended to come into the room with accusations, with anger, with grief stricken horror.  
But the slump in Varys’ shoulders stopped him.   
Tyrion could not remember seeing his friend look defeated, in the entirety of their time together.   
And after all, Varys had saved his life. Had turned him toward Daenerys, when he’d been sure there was nothing to live for, when he’d been ready to drink himself into an early grave.  
Varys had saved Daenerys’ life, at least for a time. If she hadn’t taken the potion she would be dead already.   
That must count for something, Tyrion thought.   
He was angry. He’d protected Varys, and now too much could be lost. But Varys had protected him when he’d written to his brother. And if Tyrion hadn’t written the letter, Cersei could not have sent her assassin to Daenerys. Daenerys would not have been feverish, she would have been the fierce and fiery queen they’d come to know, and maybe she would have been able to communicate her fears more rationally. And even if not, there would not be much chance of her losing consciousness in her flight to rescue the armies of most of Westeros, falling to her death, and failing to make it to Kings Landing in time to stop the horrific tragedy about to occur.  
Tyrion was as responsible as Varys.   
And if Daenerys survived, but could not save the armies, this would be more blood on their hands than a lifetime could wash away.   
Of course, even if by some miracle she made it on time and saved the armies, there was a good chance Tyrion’s and Varys’ days were numbered.   
The queen did not like dissension, and she despised betrayal.   
At the very least, she would remove them both from her small council, and that would be mercy.   
Tyrion wondered if perhaps he could offer her some payment to allow him to keep the Hand pin she’d given him.   
She’d had it made for him. Even if he was disgraced, even if she chose a new Hand, he hated the idea of having to give it back.   
But these were his most optimistic thoughts.  
Most of the images running through his head were thousands of soldiers screaming as green flames devoured them, and his beautiful little queen laying dead in some field, having fallen from Drogon’s back, her orphaned dragons curled around her.  
Varys finally turned around, his eyes dark with the horror of what he’d done.  
“Go on,” Varys urged, his voice hoarse. “You didn’t come to admire my figure. Say what you came to say.”  
“I don’t know what to say.”  
“Nothing comes to mind?”  
“We fucked up.”  
“I fucked up. You tried to tell me she was right.”  
“Yet I didn’t tell her about the ravens.”  
“I should not have put you in that position,” Varys said.  
“But once you did, my actions were my own.”  
“I only wanted to protect people. I wanted to protect her reputation.”  
“Yes,” Tyrion said, sighing. “I know that at least.”  
“And now...” Varys shuddered.   
“By tomorrow at this time they may all be dead,” Tyrion said.  
Varys nodded and sat down heavily. “We won’t even know for another few days. Even if they all survive, which is unlikely. I was wrong.”  
“Yes. You were wrong.”  
“I’ve never much cared for rulers. I cared only about the realm. The people. And I was often unable to help them. I wanted to help Ned Stark. I could only advise him to go along with Cersei, so he would be sent to the Wall rather than executed, and it did him no good at all. I tried to help Sansa Stark by suggesting to Lady Olenna a marriage alliance. I suppose her marrying you was by far not the worst thing.” Tyrion smiled faintly at that. “Daenerys said to me some time ago that I’ve served terrible rulers and ineffective rulers but she wasn’t sure if I’ve ever served a good ruler. I would not have said she was a good ruler, but that she would be a good ruler one day, with our guidance.”  
“And our guidance hasn’t done much for her at all,” Tyrion said. “Remember that day she said we always look outside ourselves for monsters, but when we make monstrous decisions of our own, we justify it as being for the greater good?”  
“I remember.”  
“If she survives what do you think she will do with us?”  
“I think that depends greatly on the survival of the armies. Particularly Jorah Mormont, Grey Worm, and Jon Snow,” Varys mused.  
Tyrion sighed. “In other words, we’re fucked.”

****************************

Qyburn walked through the gardens, holding Joanna. He pointed to the different flowers, telling her the names of them, what they could be used for in medicine. This would be the last day she would see these gardens for a long time. Another few hours, he thought.   
“It’s sad,” he told her. “Many of them will die in terrible pain. But then the realm will have peace and your mother will be avenged. It’s the bigger picture we must think about, Your Grace. For every man whose ever died by my hand, thousands may live because of what I learned from the work. Do you understand, my Queen? Your mother was the only one in the world who understood. And now I have you. Today we must leave these gardens and see what we can find in the world.”  
He carried her up to Cersei’s room and pointed out the window. “Do you see? All those banners. Your mother’s men will open the gate soon. And all these soldiers will enter the city.   
And then they’ll be gone. So few soldiers will be left, Your Grace, that we will see no war for years and years.” He held the child closer as she fell asleep, and looked again at the banners outside the walls, approaching.   
“I’m sorry to you all, for what it’s worth,” he told them, knowing they couldn’t hear. “I hope your death is fast, though I know for many it won’t be. If only you could know what peace will come of this.”   
He waited. He wanted Joanna to see the light of the first explosions. She had been robbed of her mother. The fierce queen who had taken the shame they’d tried to force on her and made it her strength. When they’d cut her hair to humiliate her, she never grew it long again. She took her unequivocal defeat and wore it like a badge to show everyone that she would never be defeated for long.   
Qyburn would be sure to tell the infant queen every day about her mother the lioness.   
The vast pyre would soon be lit, and they would have to leave. 

********************************

Jon watched the armies as they went into formation to breach the wall of Kings Landing. Ser Davos had spoken to the officers as well, and he’d been persuasive enough to convince them to enter with caution, but he’d been unable to stop the march.  
Jon had to acknowledge that the officers had made a valid point. The wildfire caches had been there for decades. Cersei had been dead for some time now. If she’d set up the wildfire to ignite, it would have done so already and they would be approaching a burning ruin.  
They fully expected that the few Lannister soldiers were left, would surrender. Cersei was gone, the other Lannisters were back at Winterfell, the soldiers would be vastly outnumbered. The armies would enter, tear down the Lannister banners, raise Targaryen banners, then go back to Winterfell to lay the Lannister banners at Daenerys’s feet.   
Jon himself had thought this was the best time, the best plan, before the nightmares.   
As they began to move, the gates opened. Jon frowned.  
This is a trap, he thought again.  
“Smart of them to surrender,” someone ahead was saying.   
They started to walk through the empty streets. It was eerie, the silence of it, as if they were caught in some apocalypse and didn’t know it yet.  
Images from his nightmare flashed in his mind.   
Something is wrong, he thought. Something is very wrong. 

Qyburn held Joanna tightly, but with her face to the city below, so she would see the beautiful revenge he’d planned to honor her mother. He could see the armies marching closer, and if they came too close to the Keep, before the wildfire detonated, Qyburn knew he’d have to leave with his infant queen. Any minute, he thought. “See those armies? They’re enemies.” He could see the small remains of the Crown’s armies as well, and of course it was sad they would burn as well. But it couldn’t be helped.   
“See all those flags? Those are the flags of your mother’s enemies.”  
Something caught his attention in the horizon. Birds? He frowned. They didn’t look like birds. They grew larger as they came closer.   
He felt a sudden rush of excitement as he realized what they were.  
“Your Grace! Look!” He pointed. “Dragons!”

Daenerys was exhausted. She had not allowed herself to stop, she had ridden all night and into the morning, and now she could see the outline of Kings Landing. She felt giddy with relief. No smoke, no fingers of green flame. But she still had to hurry. It could happen in an instant. She was laughing and crying but she couldn’t allow herself to relax until everyone was out of the city.   
She hadn’t seen Kings Landing since her vision. Of course, she had to be sick with fever, utterly exhausted, and in enervating pain when she finally saw it again.  
As if I wasn’t sick enough the first time, she thought.   
Faster, sweetling, she urged Drogon. As she approached, she saw the armies marching and her heart almost dropped into her belly.  
Too many soldiers were already in the city, she thought.   
The soldiers had seen her, she saw gratefully.   
“It’s a trap,” she called down to them with all the strength she could muster. “Retreat! NOW!”  
To her immense relief, the officers heard her, and began to call to the soldiers and the other officers.   
Hurry, she thought. Please, please, hurry.   
Her eyes scanned the faces, scanned the banners. Where was Jon? Grey Worm? Ser Jorah? 

Jon heard shouting behind him, and turned sharply, to see officers calling their men back.  
Lord Royce was waving at him.  
“The queen is here,” he was saying. “She says it’s a trap. Retreat!”   
Here? Jon thought in shock. Daenerys was here? Had she had the same dream? Had Bran seen something? Had they received some information?   
She’d said she wasn’t well enough to make the journey. Was she feeling better?   
He pushed aside the questions, they could all be addressed later.  
He and the Northmen called ahead to the other soldiers, and they began to move back out of the city.

Daenerys watched the men start to march out of the city, and for a moment she could only lean against Drogon’s warm back, the relief almost draining her of the small shivering reserve of strength she had left.   
She would have to fly over the city, she knew, and find the children Bran had told her about. She just wanted to see among the faces coming out of the gate, Jon, Grey Worm, Ser Jorah, and then she could do whatever else she had to.   
She heard a rumbling, and her heart froze. As if in time, the men froze as well.  
“Keep moving!” She commanded, and then the rumbling turned into a crash, and then a blast, then another, and it didn’t stop. Green flames erupted across the city.   
Daenerys urged Drogon back into the sky, over the city.  
If they could land, soldiers could climb on and she could fly them to safety, she thought, biting back panic that threatened to engulf her.  
She searched wildly below, seeing only smoke and flames. She glanced at Viserion and Rhaegal, and wondered if the bond remained strong enough between Rhaegal and Jon that the dragon could find him. 

Jon shuddered as the ground rumbled beneath his feet, and then the reverberations of an unearthly crash echoed all around him. The tavern ahead of them ignited first, exploding into a burst of green flame and spurting rock and cement. Jon and his men could only run, as the flames swept the street.   
Trapped, Jon thought, as every direction began to close off with a deafening crack and explosion of falling stone and tongues of green fire.   
The air was thick with smoke and ash, and in that dense wall of disastrous fog, an occasional falling stone or sweep of green fire poked through. The sounds of crashing and screaming filled his senses, and then the unmistakable roar of a dragon pierced through the cacophony, the thunderous sound of him landing in front of Jon. Through the haze around him, he could see Rhaegal, and from above, he saw the shadow of Drogon, and heard Dany’s voice.   
“Jon! Ride him! Get your men!”  
He stood dumbly for a moment, then turned to the dazed men around him.   
“With me!” He commanded them.   
They climbed Rhaegal’s wing cautiously, and had to half carry the injured up as well.  
It’s not enough, Jon thought, it’s nowhere near enough. But he couldn’t see anyone else, and the smoke and flames were closing in.   
He felt the same thread, thin though it was, to Rhaegal’s mind, that he’d felt the last few times he’d ridden him. It wasn’t like the thick tether that bound him to Ghost, it wasn’t like Rhaegal’s connection to his mother, but it was there, and as he urged the dragon to take off into the sky, he did so.  
From above, Jon could see more men struggling through the smoke and flames, and had to fight the desire to land among them, to get them to safety. Some of the men with him were injured, he had to get them back to safety first. Far ahead, he could see Drogon and Viserion, also carrying soldiers.   
When they landed, Jon saw that Daenerys was not dismounting, instead waiting for her passengers, some injured, to do so, and then was back in the sky hurtling toward the green furnace of the city.   
Jon did the same, flying into the hellish ruin to rescue men, and back to safety, again and again. He knew there could be no hope of rescuing all of them, but he and his little silver haired queen, and her magnificent children, would save as many as they could before the city was only cinders and dust.

Qyburn watched in fascination as the dragons flew in and out of the city. He could see the dragon queen on the largest one, and wondered how she had survived the poisoning.   
Qyburn felt a twinge of regret that he would have to leave, to get Joanna to safety.  
Once the rescue was completed, he had no doubt that they would come for him, and he couldn’t allow that.   
But what a sight it had been.   
“We have to get to safety now, Your Grace,” he told the tiny queen in his arms.   
He turned regretfully from the window, to make his way down the stairs and to the route he had prepared for them.

Daenerys could see spots appearing before her eyes. She was trembling, and the pain in her belly had traveled to her back, her legs, her chest.   
She had tried to ignore it but it was becoming unbearable.  
Just a little more, she told herself. And then I can sleep for a moon. Then I can even die if I must.  
She knew Grey Worm was safe now, though a buttress from some building had smashed into his arm and the injury looked fierce.   
Ser Jorah had been unconscious when they’d pulled him onto Drogon, and still when they’d carried him down, and the fear that clawed at her was worse than the pain. Jon was on Rhaegal helping her rescue the soldiers, and he was bleeding from some wound on his head, but like her, he ignored it and forced himself onward.   
He is the blood of the dragon, like me, she thought.   
She flew over Flea Bottom, alight with flames, and urged Drogon to land on a hill of broken stones that had been a building. She dismounted, and Drogon screamed in protest. He wants me safe, she thought tenderly.   
She staggered through the dust and ash, scanning the area for the children Bran had mentioned. She wanted to save the adults as well, but they’d been given an opportunity to evacuate. The children were her first concern.   
She found the huddled mass of terrorized people just where Bran had said they would be. If I survive, she thought, I will find a way to reward him.  
“You have to come with me,” she told them. “Or you will die.”  
To her relief, they began to stumble to her, and they supported each other, as some had been hurt. They balked when they saw Drogon.  
“He won’t hurt you,” she assured them, struggling not retch from the pain devouring her, the smoke filling her lungs. “He’s the only way to get out of the city.”  
They hesitantly began to climb Drogon’s wing, the adults helping the children.   
She turned to see one boy shivering, standing back, his eyes fixed in terror on Drogon’s teeth.   
“It’s all right,” she told him. “He won’t-“  
But the boy turned and ran.  
Dany turned to Drogon.   
“Go,” she told him, and she sensed from him he would not leave her. “Drogon, please,” she begged him, her voice breaking. “Bring them to safety and come back for me.”  
She turned and ran into the flames and falling stones to find the child who’d run from her.

Jon dismounted from Rhaegal to check on the men who had escaped.   
The city had become little more than a blazing furnace, there could be no saving those left, yet he could only think of trying. But the risk might be too great now, and if he got Rhaegal killed with his own recklessness, his little queen would never forgive him. He saw Drogon approaching, and decided he would follow her lead.   
But as Drogon drew closer, he saw with horror that no silver haired rider sat atop him.  
Where was she?   
The massive dragon landed and as the people began to dismount, he started to shake them off.   
He’s impatient, Jon thought. He’s going to go back for his mother. Once the haggard group of exhausted and injured people, many of whom were terrified children, Drogon took to the sky to return to the flaming ruins for Daenerys. 

Daenerys was stumbling almost blindly through the broken, burning streets, through a rain of debris and flames.  
I did this, she thought. This is the horror I did to them, to innocent people in this city.  
And maybe she deserved to die like this, as she’d done to them. But that child didn’t deserve this, and she had to find him. Her entire life now, stripped to a single goal: find that child and save him.   
She found him huddled in an alley and approached him.  
“My name is Daenerys,” she said softly, looking into his terrified eyes. “Drogon is my dragon. He’s going to come back for us. He won’t hurt you, I promise.”  
The boy was shaking, and he started to cry. Another blast shook the ground and an ear splitting crash sounded behind her, as a building nearby burst into flames, its rubble falling around them, blocking off the opening of the alley.   
Trapped, Dany thought dismally.   
She could see a door at the side of one of the buildings that flanked them, and she remembered Ser Davos telling her during their evacuation plans, that some of these structures had tunnels beneath them.   
Drogon was flying over them now, shrieking in frustration. There was nowhere he could land so they could climb onto him.  
She pushed at the door but it was unmoving. She pushed harder, threw herself against it with all her diminished strength, and the boy stood up and pushed with her, but to no avail.   
She wondered how many people had died like this when she’d burned the city in that other life.   
Trapped and frightened and choking on ash and smoke. And that was a mercy. How many others had burned alive?   
Guilt ate at her now, and she pushed it away.  
Whatever terrible death she may deserve for her actions in that other life, this child was innocent. She could not dissolve into self pity and guilt, she had to save him.   
She banged again at the door, swallowing despair. If she was to die, it would not be weeping and crying. She would fight it with all she had in her.

Jon stood with Ser Davos, watching the city.   
The green flames were licking at what was left of the scorched structures, and Jon could see Drogon circling above one area, roaring wildly. Viserion had joined him.   
“That’s where she is,” Jon told Ser Davos. “Drogon can’t get in to her. I have to get to her.”  
“It’s Flea Bottom,” Ser Davos said. “You remember what we talked about? The tunnels. When we were planning the evacuation.”  
“I remember.” He started toward Rhaegal, when Lord Royce blocked him.  
“Your Grace. Forgive me. But...” he too looked at the flames in the distance, at the collapsing structures. “Im afraid she’s already lost.”  
Jon’s eyes shot to Royce’s face. “She’s alive still.”  
He knew this, he knew in his bones, she still lived.   
“Her dragons can’t reach her. There’s naught to be done.” Royce rested his hand on Jon’s arm comfortingly. “We will never forget her. I swear this to you. But you can’t help her. The only thing you can accomplish by going to her, is dying with her.”  
Jon felt everything slow to a stop around him.  
She might be immune to the flames, but she wouldn’t be immune to the crumbling city falling around her. She would be crushed. They would find her small broken body in the rubble. Maybe they would build a statue of her. They would sing songs of her for a thousand years. They would never forget her, Royce had said. She would die alone...Jon shuddered. After everything, after all she’d done for all of them, she would die alone and frightened in the horror from which she’d sought to save them.   
“The only thing I can accomplish by going to her, is dying with her,” he repeated. “But only if I leave now.”  
And he rushed past Royce to mount Rhaegal and then he was in the sky, hurtling toward her.  
I’m coming, Dany, he thought. Please, please hold on.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the cliffhanger! I hate them too, and I will not do that again, I promise! :-)  
Thank you as always for reading and for your amazing and thoughtful comments!

Chapter Seventeen 

Daenerys was fairly sure she’d broken her hand with her last attempt to get the door open. The boy had been pushing and hitting the door as well, but he’d given up, and he sat on the ground, starting to cry.  
“I’m sorry,” he said in a small voice.  
Dany turned to him. “Sorry?”  
“I’m sorry I got scared,” he cried. “I’m sorry I ran away. We’re going to die. And it’s because I ran away.”  
“This isn’t your fault,” she assured him, hurting for him. She wanted to promise him they would survive, but she wasn’t sure.  
The building at the other side of them erupted in sudden flames, raining bricks over them, and Daenerys threw herself over the boy, crying out as some of the bricks pounded against her back, a sweep of green flame slashing across her arm and shoulder.  
This was not like her beloved fire, this was a chemical flame that stung as it burned away the leather she wore on her shoulder and back. She did not let go of the child; if it was stinging her, it would devour him.  
She could hear her dragons screaming above her, and she glanced up. Drogon and Viserion were flying in circles, and then she saw Rhaegal. The green dragon swept low over the pile of rubble, and then, to her terror, Jon jumped off his back, onto the rubble, and slid gracefully down the pile of rocks to her side. She stared at him in disbelief.  
“Jon! Why...” her words were cut off as he pulled her into his arms, clinging to her as if for dear life.  
He let go of her and glanced around, assessing, then kicked the door so that it’s hinges seemed to shatter, and it fell open. He stood to the side for Dany and the boy to enter.  
“Your Grace,” he said, smiling at her, and she couldn’t help but to smile back.  
She took the boy’s hand and rushed inside, followed by Jon, and the two of them searched for the tunnel Ser Davos had told them about.  
“It’s here,” the boy said, and they turned to him. “You’re looking for the tunnel, right?”  
They rushed through the tunnel and the smell was so putrid Dany was certain she would start retching.  
They kept running, for what felt like an eternity, and Dany wanted to stop. Jon had the boy now, she could be certain he’d keep him safe. Surely she could just curl up and rest.  
But she knew she couldn’t.  
Jon wouldn’t leave without her. He had come for her. Into almost certain death, he’d leapt off the safety of Rhaegal’s back to come for her. She almost started to weep, and stopped herself. Caution, she had to remind herself. This was an honorable man, a good man, a man of unparalleled courage; of course he would risk himself. He had risked himself for the free folk, hadn’t he? They’d been at war, but became allies against the dead. And he’d risked his life-and lost it-to save them. He would risk his own life to save anyone he believed to be good, or innocent. He considered it his duty, and there was not a thing in the world he would ever put before his duty. And if he decided it was his duty to kill her one day, he would do it.  
But what of it? What good now was caution? She was certain to die after this, she thought. The pain from the ruin within her caused by poison, was burning through her. The fever was raging. She was certain the bricks had broken her ribs, and her mouth had been filling with the metallic taste of blood since it had happened.  
What harm could it do to just be grateful, to just let herself believe he loved her?  
He’d held her when he’d come to her, surely that wasn’t duty.  
But she remembered how he’d held her as he’d slid the blade into her.  
Whatever the case, be it love or duty, he wouldn’t leave her there.  
If she suddenly sat down and rested as she so desperately wanted, it would be the death of all of them.  
She could hear rumbling above, and she swallowed panic.  
Hadn’t Jaime and Cersei Lannister died much like this? Crushed underground. At any time, the fate she’d delivered to others that day, in that life, could be visited upon her.  
The boy ran confidently in front of them, as if he’d gone through this tunnel before.  
“We’re almost there,” he told them.  
And as he said, the tunnel opened and they were outside.  
They stood now at the edge of Blackwater Bay, and Drogon landed before them, his brothers circling above.  
She turned back to the child, who still looked afraid, but less unwilling now, and he stared up at Dany.  
“He won’t hurt you,” she repeated. “His name is Drogon, he’s my child. He’s here to help us.”  
“My name is Jallan,” the boy told Drogon.  
“Do you think Drogon would mind if I ride with you?” Jon asked her.  
“I don’t think he will, but he’ll let you know if he does,” she said, smiling weakly.  
They mounted Drogon and Dany found it harder now even than when she’d left Winterfell.  
Jon helped her, and once they were on Drogon’s back, and in the sky, she was glad Jon had chosen to ride with them. She felt sick, so sick, and now, as they were on their way to safety, now that the rush and panic and immovable determination to survive long enough to save her armies, save the children, save Jallan, had receded, the pain was rising like an all consuming tide.  
She leaned against Drogon’s warmth, and allowed the darkness of exhaustion, of pain and fever, to take her.

Jon was riding with Dany and Jallan on Drogon, because he was terrified she would fall if she rode alone now. He hadn’t wanted to frighten her, but she looked paler than he’d ever seen her, and he could see blood at the corner of her mouth.  
The entire shoulder and upper back of her clothing had burned away and she, like all of them, was covered in soot and ash.  
He’d assumed when she had first arrived to warn them of the wildfire, that she was feeling better, that she’d healed, but could see now that she wasn’t.  
She had always felt warm, as if it truly were fire and blood in her veins, but as he’d pulled her into his arms in that alley, she’d felt searingly hot. Her fever had certainly returned.  
He felt foolish to even think she would fall. Hadn’t she ridden from Winterfell alone to warn them? But she was hurt, he could see that.  
Drogon landed, as did his brothers, at the encampment, and Jon gently shook Dany. She started, and looked around.  
He had wanted to carry her, to let her sleep.  
But he knew her well enough to know that she would prefer to stand. She did not like to be perceived as weak. Jon thought only a fool could think she was weak, and after today no one in all Westeros would entertain such a ridiculous notion. Still, she would not wish to be carried.  
Jon, Dany and Jallan dismounted, and Jon could see Dany’s eyes scanning the faces of the armies, of the civilians she’d rescued, the children who ran to Jallan in relief.  
She’s counting the children, Jon realized. She glanced at him, seeing his gaze fixed on her.  
“Bran said there were twelve children,” she told him.  
He wrapped his arm around her to support her, and counted the children as she had, and to his relief, there were twelve of them.  
The armies were gathering close to them now, and Grey Worm stepped forward. His arm was bandaged, but beyond that he looked well.  
Grey Worm began to give her a report, and Jon could feel Dany leaning into him, could feel her knees starting to buckle. He tightened his arm around her, moving his hand so that it was under her arm, holding her up. She glanced at him gratefully, then kept her eyes on Grey Worm.  
Ser Jorah had been injured but was alive and expected to recover, and the losses sustained by the Unsullied army were lower in number than the losses in the battle of Winterfell.  
He went on to list the losses to the other armies, and Jon realized the man must have begun gathering information for his queen as soon as his wound had been wrapped.  
Jon could feel the intense heat coming off her, felt the weight of her as she struggled to remain standing, but she kept her gaze level, then thanked Grey Worm for the information, and told him he had done well.  
Jon knew his officers wanted to speak with him as well, but they would wait. He walked with Dany to his tent, as she didn’t have one of her own, and as soon as she entered, she collapsed across the makeshift pallet he’d been using for sleep. He knelt beside her, stroking her hair.  
“Thank you, Jon,” she murmured. “For coming for us. For holding me up outside.”  
“Dany, most of us would have died if you hadn’t come for us. Thank you.”  
She was drifting into sleep, but smiled weakly.  
“We need to get you to a Maester,” he said, his voice soft but urgent.  
She sighed. “I have one at Dragonstone.”  
Jon frowned. Dragonstone was closer to Kings Landing than Winterfell.  
“Then we’ll go to Dragonstone. For now, we have a few people who have healing skills with us, I need to have someone come look at you.”  
She nodded. “All right,” she agreed. “Please send ravens to Winterfell, they’ll want news.”  
“Dany, how did you all find out what was going to happen?”  
“I knew something was wrong. I asked Willas and Sansa to send ravens to you, to ask you to come back. Varys intercepted them, and then-“  
“Why did he intercept them?” Jon demanded.  
“He thought I was mad,” she said, anger crossing her features. “I had a fever, I wasn’t well, and I didn’t know exactly what was wrong at first. Then I had a dream about the day I burned everything-“  
“The day you burned everything? When did you burn everything?”  
“In a dream.” He frowned in confusion at that, but she went on to describe her finding out from Jaime that Qyburn could ignite the wildfire, finding out from Bran that he intended to, and that Varys had intercepted the ravens. That sending ravens that late would be futile.  
She shuddered.  
“So you rode Drogon here to warn us,” Jon said.  
“I could see no other way.”  
“I dreamed of it too,” he said. “And of you. Asking me to come back to Winterfell.”  
She looked at him. “I dreamed the same thing. I was asking you to come back. I thought you were all ignoring my ravens.”  
“You can’t keep Varys on your small council anymore,” he told her.  
She laughed. “I think you’re right about that.”  
And then she was asleep.

Jon stepped outside his tent, and scanned the men to see if any of those with medicinal knowledge could be found, and Ser Davos approached him, smiling in open relief.  
“We were afraid you wouldn’t be coming back,” he said.  
Jon nodded. “Aye, I was a little afraid of that too.”  
He saw Ser Davos’ expression turn suddenly from warm relief to confusion, shock, then the sharp edge of fear.  
Jon turned to see what had caught his attention. It was a Red Priestess. For a second, Jon thought it was Melisandre, but her hair was darker. Like Melisandre, she had a beautiful face, and her eyes were blue green and arresting.  
She smiled at both of them as she approached.  
“King Jon Snow,” she greeted him, then turned to Ser Davos and greeted him by name as well.  
“She killed herself,” Ser Davos told the woman. “I didn’t touch her. I would have. I wanted her executed. But I didn’t. She took off that necklace, and-“  
“I’m not here about Melisandre, Ser Davos.”  
She smiled. “My name is Kinvara. Lord Willas Tyrell sent me a message about Queen Daenerys Stormborn. I’ve come to see what can be done for her.”  
“How did you know she was here?” Jon asked, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.  
“I saw it in the flames.”  
Jon nodded. Of course she did. Why did he even ask, he thought.  
“All right, come on.”  
He entered the tent with her. Flames or not, he had no reason to trust her, and Dany had been on the receiving end of far too much treachery for him to simply let strangers approach her unaccompanied, especially in her weakened state.  
Kinvara didn’t seem to mind or even notice. She walked to Dany, lowered herself to check her forehead, then her breathing and heartbeat. Then she laid her hands on Dany’s belly and closed her eyes as if reading her body’s ills with her touch.  
“She’s strong,” Kinvara said, standing. “That’s good. That will help.”  
She set to work lighting candles and laying bottles out on Jon’s table.  
She stood an empty bottle on the table beside the others, then began to pour drops from them into it, and she was speaking very softly, in a language Jon didn’t know.  
When she finished, she went back to Dany, lifting her head.  
“What are you giving her?” Jon demanded.  
“This will help her pain and stop the fever. It will over time stop the infection that’s in her.  
But what she needs is a healing. This will take more time, and methods she may not wish me to use.”  
Jon shuddered, remembering the methods Melisandre employed.  
“She won’t,” he agreed.  
“If I cannot find some other way, she must.”  
“Could I...could I offer my own life? For hers?”  
Kinvara smiled again. “It would be a fair exchange, but the Lord of Light wants you alive. And imagine what the queen would do if she wakes to find you dead.”  
Jon closed his eyes for a moment, as if to steel himself. “Will she die?” He asked. “Did you see that in your flames?”  
“I only saw that it’s one of many possibilities. But I have no intention of allowing that to happen.”

The women and children of Winter Town had not left Winterfell, and Sansa felt as she had during battles; helpless, waiting for news.  
She was sitting with a small group of women, doing needlework and occasionally attempting to make conversation, as if to distract themselves from the crushing fear that pushed upon them.  
Tyrion and Willas were absently playing cyvasse, Tyrion drinking heavily from his goblet. Jaime was with Brienne, both of them quiet, waiting.  
Bran sat by the fire, his eyes looking at nothing anyone else could see, at times turning white.  
Sansa couldn’t stand the silence, but when one of the ladies would talk to break that silence, that too grated on her.  
“Should we have news by now?” One of the women suddenly asked.  
“No,” Sansa said. “A raven could not have made it here by now.”  
“It’s done,” Bran said tonelessly.  
Sansa turned to him. “Done?”  
“The wildfire erupted shortly after Daenerys got there.”  
“Is she alive?” Missandei demanded.  
“Yes.”  
“Is Jon alive?” Sansa asked him.  
“Yes.”  
“Grey Worm?” Missandei asked.  
“He’s alive. He broke his arm.”  
“What of my daughter?” Jaime asked.  
“She’s alive, Qyburn escaped with her.”  
And now everyone moved in to ask of their loved ones, and Bran answered, occasionally having to go in his mind to look for their whereabouts.  
Finally, he told them what exactly had happened, that Daenerys had arrived minutes before the wildfire detonated, and then she and Jon had ridden Daenerys’s dragons into the city to rescue people and bring them to safety.  
Jon had a bad cut on his head, Daenerys had broken ribs, from falling stones. But they were both alive.  
Lyanna Mormont asked if her cousin was alive, and Bran assured her Ser Jorah was alive, though he had been injured.  
Jaime wanted to know exactly where his daughter was, and Bran told him that Qyburn was with her, on a road surrounded by trees, and he intended to book a passage on a ship but wasn’t sure where they would go.  
“He wants to get her to safety. If he or she were recognized, it would be dangerous for both of them.”  
“I need to find them,” Jaime said.  
“They don’t know yet where they’re going. How would you find them?”  
Jaime stood up and began pacing the room.  
Sansa watched him, his anxiety a contrast to the intense relief around him.  
Tyrion had stood and, seeing Brienne comforting him, left the hall.  
Sansa suspected he was going to tell Varys.  
The man had remained in his room since Daenerys had left.  
Sansa was still angry at him. Whatever his intentions had been, he had intercepted a raven she’d sent to her brother, her king, really, from her own home.  
He had defied his own queen, and disrespected her, as well as disrespecting Jon and Sansa.  
And he had put their armies at risk.  
She had been angry at herself for telling him about the letter at all, then remembered how he’d stood by the rookery.  
He would have intercepted the letter anyway.  
She stood up, and walked outside.  
She felt lighter now, knowing that Jon had lived, that most of their men had as well.  
To her surprise, she saw Tyrion standing in the courtyard, and he turned when he saw her, smiling.  
“My Lady,” he said.  
“I thought you’d gone to tell Varys the good news.”  
“I will. I wanted to think about it. Just...enjoy it. I’m thinking about my niece. Hoping she’s safe.”  
“Why didn’t you tell us that Varys was intercepting our ravens?”  
Tyrion sighed. “I tried to convince him not to.”  
“But why did you not tell us?”  
“I should have.”  
“Yes. But why didn’t you?”  
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to betray him. I thought his argument was...compelling.”  
“I didn’t believe her either, but I sent the raven. You defended her! I thought you believed her. You told me what to write.”  
Tyrion sighed. “I wasn’t sure if something terrible was going to happen to the armies, but I was fairly sure something would happen to Varys if I said something. But I tried to convince him...I even considered sending a raven myself.”  
“If anything like this happens again, tell me.”  
“I’m hoping nothing like this will happen again.”  
She laughed.  
“I probably should go tell him,” Tyrion said. “Ease his conscience.” He smiled faintly and turned to go inside.  
“Lord Tyrion,” she called after him. “Don’t tell him right away. Let him squirm in his web a little longer. He defied me in my own home, he intercepted a letter that I sent to my king, and he intercepted a letter that Lord Willas sent to his queen. He defied his own queen. He took it upon himself to withhold an important communication, and it almost cost the lives of a king, a queen, several lords and five armies. Tyrion, I know he’s your friend but this is very close to treason. Let him think about it for a bit.”  
Tyrion frowned. “All right, My Lady. I can wait a bit.”


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so overwhelmed by your kind, thoughtful, awesome comments. Thank you all so much!  
In this chapter, Dany makes a victory speech before going to Dragonstone.  
I. Suck. At. Writing. Speeches.  
Contrariwise, Dany was always really GOOD at speeches, so no pressure. 😂😂😂  
Hopefully it’s not too awful.  
The Hound is finally rewarded for all that he’s done. Robett Glover loses his ever loving mind.  
Dany finds out some information at Dragonstone, and we catch up with Qyburn.

Chapter Eighteen.

Daenerys opened her eyes, confused for a moment. She was in a tent, wearing a man’s shirt, her chest and belly wrapped tightly in bandages. My ribs, she remembered. Then all that had happened flashed before her.   
This was Jon’s tent. Jon’s shirt. Where was Jon?   
She started to sit up, and a stab of pain assaulted her, but it was nowhere near the agony of...earlier? Yesterday? She wasn’t sure.  
She looked around, and caught the gaze of a woman, who was rushing toward her now, her eyes fixed on her.  
“How are you feeling, Your Grace?”   
“Better than before,” she said, studying the woman. She was beautiful, and dressed much the way Melisandre had, she even wore the same necklace.  
“My name is Kinvara. I am the First Servant of the Lord of Light. I have come to help you, Daenerys Stormborn. The Lord of Light has much work left for you to do. I hope you will allow me to help you.”  
Daenerys smiled at her. “You helped us keep the peace in Meereen,” she said, remembering her name, that Tyrion had met her when Dany had been missing. “I thank you for that, and for coming all this way to help me. I would very much appreciate your help, but I’m not sure if you can. I was poisoned-“  
“We know. I’ve given you a potion for the pain and fever. It will stop this infection, but there will be others. Each one will be stronger than the last, unless a sacrifice is made for full healing.”  
“No,” Dany said quickly. “There will be no sacrifices.”  
“Jon Snow offered to give his life in exchange for yours,” Kinvara said, and Dany suddenly felt as if the ground beneath her had slipped away. She was gripped in paralyzing terror.  
“No...please...” her voice was a strangled cry, and she grabbed Kinvara’s arm. “You didn’t...”  
“I didn’t,” Kinvara assured her, and she collapsed back onto the pallet in relief. “But if you do not allow a sacrifice, you will eventually die.”  
Dany sighed. “Valar Morghulis,” she said softly.  
“But we are not men,” Kinvara said, and Dany looked at her sharply. “We’ve been watching you for a long time. The Breaker of Chains. Rest assured, the Lord of Light wishes for you and Jon Snow to remain alive.”  
“And if your Lord of Light can accomplish this without having to harm an innocent, I will gladly and gratefully accept his help and yours.”  
“Sacrifices are-“  
“No,” Dany repeated. Kinvara sighed but she didn’t press the issue. “Where is Jon?” Dany asked.  
“He’s discussing the plans to get you to Dragonstone so you can see a Maester. He was afraid to leave me alone with you, it took quite some convincing. He feared I would harm you.”  
Dany attempted to stand, and Kinvara helped her. “I have to-“  
“You don’t have to do anything but recover, Your Grace.”  
Jon entered the tent then, and his face softened with relief when he saw her. He moved to her, wrapping one arm around her to hold her up.   
“How are you feeling?” He asked her.  
“Much better,” she said. She leaned on him, into him, inhaling his scent of soap and snow and leather. She had feared for him truly, despite Kinvara’s assurance, and she wanted to cling to him.   
“Lady Yara is here. She wants to see you.”  
“Of course! Should I-“  
“I’ll get her.”  
He led her to a chair, then walked outside, returning a moment later with Yara Greyjoy, who was grinning at her.  
“You gave us a scare, Your Grace,” she said, sitting down across from her. “I’m happy to see you alive. And just look at you. At death’s door and still the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.”  
Dany flushed, laughing. “I’m happy to see you too, Lady Yara. Although, as per our agreement, I suppose it’s Queen Yara now.”  
“Captain Yara for now, Your Grace,” Yara said, but her smile widened. “Lady Olenna and her people are back at Dragonstone. She’s been managing everything there, what with all the Kings Landing refugees. She’s very eager to see you. We’ve all been sick with worry since we heard Cersei poisoned you.”   
“I’m so grateful for all you’ve done.”  
“Likewise, Your Grace. You delivered my uncle to us, and I can see you intend to fulfill your promise of independence to us. We can discuss the details when you’re feeling better.   
Right now I just want to get you to Dragonstone to see a Maester. I understand you were hurt in the rescue.”  
Daenerys hesitated. “I’m feeling a little better. Maybe I should go back to Winterfell first. I left Missandei there, and all my-“  
“Once we’ve gotten you to Dragonstone, Grey Worm will go with an envoy to get Missandei. I’ll bring him myself, and then I can bring your Dothraki back as well.”  
“If they are willing, I would prefer the Dothraki stay on at Winterfell until the Northern armies return home. I don’t want to leave the North unprotected.”  
Yara nodded thoughtfully. “That’s probably for the best, Your Grace. Even with the wars over, there are bandits and the like still running around. The Seven Kingdoms are yours now, and I’ll warn you, you’ve got your work cut out for you. The entire continent is a disaster, from one end to the other.”  
Dany sighed. She’d suspected as much, with wars raging for years and winter setting in. “I like work,” she said finally and Yara laughed. Dany stood. “I guess we’d best get started. I want to express my gratitude to the armies, and then-“ She was already moving toward the opening of the tent, and Yara interrupted her.  
“Your Grace, I’m very enthusiastic to support your new style, but are you sure you want to go out like that?”  
Dany stopped, realizing she was wearing only Jon’s shirt. Yara’s eyes swept over her legs appreciatively, then grinned at her.  
Jon was also looking at her legs, but flushed when she met his gaze.  
“I’ll find something,” he offered, and began rifling through his clothes, producing a pair of pants for her. She pulled them on, and then her own shoes, and walked outside, Jon and Yara flanking her.   
Grey Worm and Blue Mouse stood outside the tent opening, guarding it, and they both nodded at her, and followed as she walked.   
She’d expected to approach the armies separately, but as Jon and Yara led her toward a clearing away from the camp, she saw that the armies had gathered already.   
Randyll Tarly approached her, followed by a few other officers, and they laid the Lannister banners on the ground before her.   
They stood back then, and the faces all around her were solemn.  
She remembered her speech in her vision, and held back a shudder; they wouldn’t understand at all what had upset her, and she didn’t want to tarnish in any way the quiet pride she saw in their eyes.  
She could see now that they’d hung Targaryen banners outside the smoking city.   
She felt a chill down her back as she remembered her vision again.  
She took a deep breath and ignored the stabbing pain in her belly.   
Grey Worm stood beside her, to translate for her.   
“Thank you all for your bravery and your loyalty.   
For your patience during the siege, and your courage in storming the city.  
This city was built by my ancestors. Today the city is a ruin. But we still stand.   
We will build this city anew, build our continent anew. You have claimed this city for me. But it’s not only mine, it’s yours too. As is the future we will build for ourselves, our children, and our children’s children.  
All of you standing here today have risked your lives to fight for a better world. I can think of no greater honor than to stand before you and serve as your Queen.”  
Her voice was hoarse, but as she finished speaking, the armies dropped to one knee before her.   
Jon and Yara helped her walk toward the ship, to sail back to Dragonstone.

*********************

Sansa read the letter that had arrived that morning, and entered the great hall to share the news she’d received.  
“Lady Olenna Tyrell and her family are at Dragonstone. Queen Daenerys and King Jon are on their way there as well, as the queen has had injuries and should see a Maester.”  
This was met with some concern and Sansa quickly added, “she does not believe these injuries are life threatening.” She turned to Gendry. “The queen intends to legitimize you and give you Storms End.” At Gendry’s look of shock, she added, “she says you have contributed greatly to efforts in the war against the dead. You made weapons and fought bravely. You are her kin, as your great grandmother was a Targaryen. She wishes to restore your House and will name you Lord Paramount of the Storm Lands.” Sansa could see that he was happy, but still shocked. Arya was smiling at him, beaming really. Sansa then turned to Missandei. “Grey Worm will be arriving with an envoy to bring you safely to Dragonstone, and she requests that the Dothraki stay on here, to defend Winterfell until the Northern armies return. She would like for you to communicate this request to them.” Missandei nodded.   
“I’ll join you, if it’s all right,” Lord Willas told Missandei, and Sansa tried not to show her disappointment that he would be leaving. His advice and company had been more of a comfort than she’d realized. But of course he would leave. His family was at Dragonstone. And Daenerys, she thought bitterly.   
“Did she mention me?” Lord Tyrion asked, and he looked nervous and hopeful.   
Sansa sighed, almost pityingly. “She did. She said they won’t really get started for awhile, and Dragonstone will be full, with the refugees from Kings Landing. She said since Jon and Ser Davos are with her, you can stay here, if you’re amenable, and advise me.”  
At the look of disappointment on his face, Sansa felt for him. He had been excited to get started on ideas for his queen’s new reign. Sansa had been there that morning when Bran had mentioned Daenerys being injured, had seen the pallor on Lord Tyrion’s face. He missed her.   
Gods, please don’t tell me he’s in love with her too, she thought in annoyance.  
“She says here that your mind is incomparable, and we will benefit greatly by being able to plan together,” Sansa added, as if the kindness in the queen’s words would soothe the apparent rejection in her instructions.   
“She’s angry at me for not telling her about the ravens.”  
Sansa sighed. “Can you blame her? She was almost killed rushing out of here with that fever. You should have told her.”  
He nodded, and said nothing else.   
Sansa looked around the room again.  
“Queen Daenerys says here that she has not forgotten her promise to respect our independence,” she announced.   
The women cheered lightly, but Sansa could see that they were not as fierce on the subject as before, and she pushed aside her irritation. Once the men returned, they would support her in this matter.   
She saw The Hound sitting in one of the corners of the room. He was drinking some ale and she was happy to see him recovering from the injuries he’d received. She cleared her throat.   
“I have something to say as well,” she began. “As you all know well, Robett Glover has been stripped of his titles and removed from his land. He betrayed our family twice, once by refusing to help us fight the Boltons, which my brother the King forgave. He promised he would stand behind House Stark as his family had for a thousand years, but then abandoned the fight against the army of the dead. He then came here after the fight was over, insulted our king, and insulted our ally, in our house. We see no reason to continue forbearance.”  
This was met with cheers, and she waited.  
“Sandor Clegane,” she addressed The Hound, who glanced up from his ale in surprise. “You defended and protected me during my time in Kings Landing. You defended and protected my sister Arya across all Westeros. You fought beside us in the war with the dead. I would like to offer you Deepwood Motte in gratitude for your service to our family.”  
Cheers erupted again across the room, and The Hound looked dumbfounded.  
“I didn’t do any of that, expecting to be given land,” he told her.  
“All the more reason to reward you.”  
Arya was grinning at him. “I’ll show you the castle,” she offered him.   
Sandor stood. “I thank you, my lady.”   
Sansa smiled at him and nodded. “And I thank you,” she told him.  
She sat at the table after the announcements, still turning the letter over in her hands.  
Tyrion approached the table cautiously.  
“My Lady, did the queen mention Varys?” He asked, his voice low as if afraid of the answer.  
“She didn’t,” Sansa said. “And I’d say that’s a mercy. If she intended to burn him or behead him she’d have likely requested his arrest.”  
Tyrion nodded. “That’s true, of course. Thank you.”   
He left the room, still looking dejected.  
Willas turned to her, smiling. “That was a really good thing you did,” he said, and she flushed. “He deserves it.” Willas stood then. “I’m going to see if Tyrion wants to ride for awhile, if that’s all right. I think he’s very loyal to Queen Daenerys and I do believe she’ll forgive him. Varys...maybe not,” he laughed a little.   
After he’d gone, Sansa still felt the flush from his smile, and pushed the thought away. After Ramsey, she’d decided she might never want to be with a man again. And she certainly didn’t want to be pining for a man who was clearly besotted with Daenerys.  
Sansa turned suddenly to Missandei. “Would you like to practice some needlepoint?”   
She looked surprised, but agreed, and they sat together doing their needlework.  
Sansa had been feeling guilty that she hadn’t tried to be more welcoming to Daenerys, and felt even worse that she had done nothing to welcome Missandei.   
What was worse, was that the women of the North saw Sansa’s coldness and had treated them with coldness as well.   
Of course, that had long passed after Daenerys’ actions in the battle.   
But now, Missandei had had to wait for her queen, and no doubt the queen’s first commander Grey Worm was Missandei’s lover, Sansa could see the way they looked at each other.  
How frightened she must have been, knowing her lover was going into a city that was about to burst into flames, knowing her queen who was clearly also a dear friend, was going to try to save them when she was barely well enough to walk.  
Sansa remembered how alone she’d felt at Kings Landing among strangers, with all her loved ones in danger. Missandei had been quiet and brave.   
Sansa decided she would do whatever she could do make sure Missandei felt welcome for the remainder of her days at Winterfell.  
They sat together for a few hours, when a commotion at the door caught their attention, then a shriek of terror.  
Sansa stood, and Robett Glover stormed into the great hall.   
He had his sword out, swinging it and the women near the swing screamed and ran out of the hall.   
It was immediately clear that the man had been drinking.   
“You took my land, and now you want to give it away,” he hissed, walking toward her. “First your brother Robb gets caught up in the cunt of a foreign whore and loses his kingdom. Then your bastard brother Jon brings that Targaryen whore here and expects me to fight beside her and her invaders.”   
Missandei glanced at Sansa, then slipped out of the room.   
Glover watched her, laughing. “That’s the kind of loyalty you can expect from foreigners.”  
Sansa found it ironic he would say that, since most of the women had dashed out of the room, not just Missandei. Only Lady Lyanna had stayed, and she stood now, staring down Glover with an icy glare.   
“You are a coward,” she told him. “All of us here had concerns about the Targaryen queen, but we didn’t abandon our king, we stayed and we fought.”   
“You little bitch,” Glover slurred at her. “Don’t make me kill you too.” He began to stumble toward Sansa, and she tried to stand tall, tried not to show the terror coursing through her. Lady Lyanna started toward him.   
“Lady Lyanna, please don’t put yourself in harm’s way,” Sansa said, forcing a calm voice.   
“I’ll kill both of you bitches,” Glover said.   
Sansa’s heart pounded. Tyrion and Willas May not have provided much protection, but it would have been far better if they were here.   
Even more, she wished Arya and Sandor were still here.  
Sansa’s eyes were fixed on Glover as he advanced on her, but she could see movement behind him; as he lifted his sword, Sansa’s heart froze. Then, a strong tanned arm swept an arakh across Glover’s neck.   
His head fell neatly to the floor, then his body followed.   
Behind him, one of Daenerys’ Dothraki stood with his bloody arakh, Missandei standing primly behind him.   
The man said something to Missandei in a language Sansa didn’t understand, and Missandei answered him.   
He left the hall, and Missandei sat down next to Sansa, picking up her needlework and said, “That’s Qhono. He and the others will clean this up and after this, they will have men stationed at the door.”  
Sansa and Lady Lyanna glanced at each other.   
“Thank you,” Sansa said.   
She would not have faulted Missandei if she’d simply rushed to safety; but she’d slipped out to get help, and Sansa was hit hard by gratitude and the sheer vastness of having misjudged her.   
Missandei smiled. “Of course, My Lady,” she said and Sansa could not help but to notice the woman’s hands didn’t even shake. 

*************************

Daenerys remembered the first time she’d come to Dragonstone since her birth, and how she’d hoped it would be a homecoming. But it hadn’t felt like home. This time, however, as she stepped off Lady Yara’s ship, she was greeted first by Lady Olenna, who marched up to her and hugged her.   
“Our queen returns,” she said, smiling at her and linking her arm in hers. “And don’t think we haven’t heard about what you’ve been doing. Promising us you’ll be careful, then flying your dragons into a burning city when you’re already sick. That’s not what careful means, you do know that, don’t you?”  
Daenerys laughed. “I’ve missed you,” she said warmly.  
“Likewise, my dear.” As they walked, Daenerys saw people cheering along the road.   
These were the people of Kings Landing, she realized. The ones she’d evacuated to Dragonstone to protect them from Cersei. Who had kept her sigils.  
Who I burned, she thought.   
As they approached the long walkway, Jon, who had been walking behind her alongside Yara, was suddenly at her side.  
“Your Grace, please let me carry you, this is a long walk. I remember it.”  
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I can walk.”  
“Let the man carry you,” Lady Olenna said. “Men like to carry women, it makes them feel like heroes.”  
Daenerys laughed again. “I’m truly fine. I feel a lot better. Lord Willas had written to a Red Priestess for me, she gave me something for the infection. I feel almost like me again.”  
Which of course was true, except for stabbing pains that would occasionally overtake her. And the grim knowledge that infections could easily come back. That one of them might kill her.  
Kinvara was walking behind them.   
When she finally made it to her room on Dragonstone, she had stumbled onto her bed and fallen asleep.   
She woke a few hours later, then washed and dressed. She was eager for Missandei to return. Despite everything that had happened, she still felt a terrible fear at the idea of Missandei traveling on a ship without her. If something happened to her she could not forgive herself.  
She wanted to meet the people of Kings Landing. She decided to start with the children.   
Lady Olenna had gone over with her the issues of space, how some people had to be housed in ships, that they were being given food and safety, and that had been difficult, because most of their armies had been surrounding Kings Landing.   
As she approached the areas set up for children to play, she held a large box of sweets Lady Olenna had given her. She wished she could give them more than that, and vowed that one day she would.  
But when she sat with them, her trepidation faded. The children who she’d rescued from the city, and had sailed with her to Dragonstone, had settled in while she was resting and told the other children about her.  
They peppered her with questions about dragons, about whether they too would get to ride one one day.   
She also asked them to tell her about Kings Landing. What had they liked? What had they hated? What would they like to see in the new city she would rebuild for them?   
She remembered Barristan Selmy telling her that her brother Rhaegar would go among the common people, get to know them.   
She thought this was a good idea. How better to serve them, than to truly know them, to address the concerns they had?  
She realized that they were eyeing her box of sweets, and she smiled at them.   
“I brought these for you,” she told them, handing them out.  
They took their sweets, exchanged them amongst themselves, and she watched them, still smiling.   
A little girl approached her then, sat down next to her, and very softly said, “Lady Aubrey is having an affair with a sailor.”  
Daenerys looked at her, her eyes wide. “Is she?” She said carefully.   
Why would this little girl tell her this? It seemed like such an incongruous subject.  
Then a boy added, “he bought her combs and perfume from Lys and she told her husband she found them.”  
“Oh,” Daenerys said, unsure how to react.  
“The butcher weights his scales,” another boy offered. “He got caught by a knight and now he shares the extra money with him.”  
“Well...that’s not...”  
“The fisherman with the red boat makes a drink that’s like milk of the poppy but it’s no good and sometimes it kills people.”  
“All right. We’ll have to put a stop to-“  
“There’s not really any gold at Casterly Rock anymore. It dried up years ago.”  
“I’ve heard that,” she assured the boy.  
“The Celtigar family is happy you’re back,” another boy told her. “They said that we need a Targaryen Restoration.”  
“But some people are scared,” a girl added. “They say your father was terrible.”  
“Well...” she sighed. “He was terrible.”  
“The smith who used to make horseshoes said everyone is terrible.”  
Dany frowned. “Maybe everyone is a little terrible and a little...not terrible.”  
“When you come back we’ll have better news for you,” one of the boys promised her.  
“I appreciate that, but what I really want you to do is tell me what you would like to see when we rebuild the city.”  
They assured her they would, excited and eager. One boy leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You’re going to be our Queen now?”  
“Yes.”  
“Good. I like you.”   
The children were called away to eat dinner.   
Daenerys walked toward the hall where she had always eaten dinner, and Lady Olenna, Jon, Yara, Grey Worm and Lady Olenna’s family were already sitting.   
“You ate all those sweets already?”  
She laughed. “No, I gave them to the children.”  
Lady Olenna looked at her skeptically, making her laugh again.   
She sat down and ate with them, listening to them telling her what they’d been doing. She felt herself getting swept up with excitement, and as she remembered all the other dinners they’d shared at this table, she started to hope that maybe she would have a home, a true home.   
After dinner, she sat with Lady Olenna as she had all those moons ago, drinking wine. She had to be cautious, as her stomach was much more sensitive than it had been before the poisoning, but she figured a glass or two wouldn’t hurt.  
“They’re singing about you all over the continent,” Lady Olenna said. “And after what you did in Kings Landing, right in front of all the armies of Westeros, they’ll be singing for a hundred years. I understand you even rescued Lannister soldiers?”  
“I couldn’t just let them die. And Jon was there too, he rode Rhaegal and-“  
“Yes, yes, and I imagine the North will make it sound like it was him who flew across the continent with a fever to rescue everyone. But we’re not his subjects, my dear, we’re your subjects, and we know what happened.”   
Dany laughed softly. “I wanted to tell you something that happened.”  
“All right.”  
“I was talking to those children. And it was going well, I think. They were telling me what they liked and hated about Kings Landing. Then I gave them the sweets, and they started telling me...well...gossip.”  
Lady Olenna leaned forward. “This story just turned interesting. What was the gossip?”  
“Someone named Lady Aubrey is having an affair with a sailor. There’s a butcher who weights his scales and splits the extra with a knight who caught him. Just a lot of gossip. It came from out of nowhere. They said they’d have better news for me next time.”  
Lady Olenna was smiling now. “My dear, I believe you’ve stumbled upon a nest of little birds.”

********************

The cart that Qyburn had taken to leave Kings Landing had been robbed of most of its food, and with it, the gold he’d planned to use to board a ship.  
Without the protection of the Keep, he feared he would not be able to protect his tiny queen.   
He still had the cart, but what if the next bandit stole that? Or murdered him and left his infant monarch alone? Or worse, harmed her?   
He could spend every day telling her how fierce her mother had been. How strong and proud and beautiful.  
But what would happen if he were killed?  
He knew what he had to do. He had to find her father.   
Jaime Lannister may have done things that could be judged harshly, but hurting children had never been among them, had it?  
No matter, he wouldn’t harm his own.   
Little Joanna looked so much like her mother, it hurt Qyburn to look at her. But worse, it terrified him. Too many people had hated Cersei. What if they harmed her?   
He heard a noise, as of footsteps, and froze. Turning, he saw a large man with greasy hair approaching. He tried to urge the horse to run, but the man grabbed the reins before he could.   
“Whatcha got there?” He demanded.  
“My granddaughter,” he said, trying to stay calm.   
“Well, give her over, let me see.”  
“She’s not feeling well.”  
“Maybe I can make her better, eh?” The man said, laughing.   
Qyburn tried again to urge his horse, and now the man was angry. He stepped toward him.   
“Please, she’s the last of my family,” Qyburn insisted.   
The man reached up to grab her, and Qyburn held on, kicking at the man.   
He landed a solid kick, which sent the man sprawling.  
“Oh, now I’m going to hurt you,” he growled, but as he moved toward the cart, a small figure rushed up to him, swinging a three pronged frog spear into his face, then, with the other hand, plunged a bronze knife into his head.  
Qyburn stared at his rescuer, torn between gratitude for saving them and fear this was another attacker. The figure turned, and Qyburn saw that it was a girl.   
“Meera Reed,” she introduced herself. “I’m out hunting, I have a little extra, if you want some.” She held up a catch of rabbits.  
“I would appreciate that. I’m afraid I have nothing to offer you.”  
She studied him. “You know how to set up a fire?”  
“Yes.”  
“Good. You do that.”   
Qyburn laid out a few pillows he’d brought in his cart for Joanna, then gently placed her on them.  
He started the fire, and watched admiringly as Meera efficiently and expertly skinned the rabbit.  
“Where are you headed?” She asked him.  
“Winterfell,” he said. He knew he would likely be murdered on the spot, but it would mean safety for Joanna, and it was a small price to pay.   
She studied him. “What do you want at Winterfell?”  
“The child’s father is there. He went to fight the army of the dead. I need to get her to safety.”  
“I’ll go with you,” Meera offered.  
Qyburn looked at her disbelievingly. “You will?”  
“I’ve been there before, and no offense, you don’t look like you should be traveling alone.”  
He nodded gratefully. “I appreciate it.”  
She continued to skin the rabbit, then cooked it.  
Qyburn hadn’t eaten so well in days, and he felt his hope returning.   
“Have you been to Winterfell?” He asked her.  
“I have,” she said, and she looked sad. “I had a friend who used to live there.”


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for your awesome comments and insights, and also for the kudos! :-)  
In this chapter Jon and Dany’s issues come to a head and plans are made!   
Also tried making spaces between some paragraph breaks but I clearly don’t know what I’m doing lol. I hope it helps!

Daenerys sat in the map room with Lady Olenna, Ellaria Sand, Yara, Jon, and Ser Davos.  
They were discussing the rebuilding of Kings Landing, and it was generally agreed that the people could not move back until it was rebuilt.   
Daenerys hated how much vitality had been robbed from her by pain that left her exhausted, but she was filled with gratitude for all that her allies had done.

Lady Olenna had already sent missives among the refugees on Dragonstone and across Westeros, inviting builders to help reconstruct the city. The expense was enough to tie Daenerys’s stomach into knots, but Lady Olenna assured her that if the treasury did not provide enough coin she would assist.  
Lady Olenna had begun having tents and temporary structures set up all over Highgarden, in order to have her people produce at least one more harvest before winter gripped the Reach. 

The fires had finally gone out in the capitol, and they would be able to begin work from the Red Keep soon.   
“Isn’t there wildfire under the Red Keep?” Ser Davos asked.   
For a moment they were struck silent.  
“I don’t think anyone will set it off now,” Ellaria offered. 

The discussion turned to moving the wildfire, finding the right people, people who knew how to handle the substance carefully, to move it, and then how they might destroy it.  
“Don’t destroy it,” Daenerys said. “We can store it someplace where there are no people. We’ll have to have walls around it but far enough away, so nobody goes there and gets hurt or sets it off. But we may need it.”  
“For what?” Ellaria asked her. “You have dragons, you’ll never need to fight with wildfire.”  
“I wasn’t thinking of fighting. I was thinking...for example, Flea Bottom. I understand the structures there were not sturdy to begin with, and they’ll be even worse now. They’re so unstable, it could be dangerous for people to even work there to rebuild it.”  
“And you think wildfire would help?” Ellaria looked skeptical.  
“Yes. I think it could be used to demolish the entire area and start building from the ground up.”  
“Couldn’t you use your dragons for that?”  
“I could, but if something happens to me, you’ll want to use wildfire. It would be safer to burn many of the damaged structures down and rebuild, than to attempt to repair structures that are unstable. A controlled destruction that we are prepared for, and therefore will be able to stop before it gets out of hand.”  
The others at the table exchanged glances, and then nodded.  
They began to plan with a new interest, now they didn’t have to concern themselves with the danger of crumbling structures.

Daenerys missed Tyrion. She hated to admit it even to herself, but she did.   
His plans had cost her too much in that other life, had cost her everything. And now, his small betrayals had almost killed her.  
And might still, she thought.  
She glanced at Jon, who was listening to Ser Davos describing the best ways to lay Flea Bottom flat so they could rebuild.   
She wondered if perhaps it was her destiny to care too much about men who would only betray her. 

She missed being able to ride Drogon, and hoped that the pain would ease back far enough for her to fly. She could see that Kinvara was watching her, as if seeing her pain, underscoring it, and Daenerys looked away. She would not agree to a sacrifice. It went against everything she had fought for, everything she had avoided since her terrible vision. 

After the discussion, the room cleared, and Dany stood at the window, looking out.   
Missandei would be coming back to Dragonstone soon, and Dany was impatient and frightened. She hated being afraid. If something happened to Missandei, she couldn’t bear it.  
She could hear soft footsteps behind her, and she turned to see Jon. 

How beautiful he is, she thought, watching him approach her. His eyes were dark, devouring her, and she wanted to hold onto him, to press her mouth against his, to feel his body, hard against her. To have him inside her. She shook her head to clear it, and took a deep breath to expel the longing that filled her.   
“I wish you weren’t in so much pain,” he said softly.  
“Better than being dead,” she said bluntly.   
He nodded. “Aye,” he responded. He was standing close to her, so close she could feel his breath, and she looked at him expectantly. He had rejected her the last time she’d offered herself to him. Why was he standing so close?  
“What is it?” She finally asked.  
“I love you,” he said.   
She felt her heart lurch, and she tried to keep her breathing level.   
“I love you,” she replied, smiling lightly, hoping to diffuse some of the intensity. She wanted it and couldn’t trust it.  
“I mean I...” he broke off, as if searching for words.   
“I understand,” she said, quickly. “You can’t get past our relation. You explained this. There’s no reason we must repeat it.”  
“Dany, I would die for you,” he said fervently.  
Daenerys shuddered. “Kinvara told me. Please don’t. I appreciate it, I swear I do, but...I don’t want to live if that’s the price.”  
Jon looked frustrated then, and she could see there was something else he wanted to say, and was struggling for the words.  
“Marry me,” he said suddenly, and Dany stared at him, speechless for a moment.  
“Jon...are you all right?” She finally managed.  
“I’m all right, Dany. I love you.”  
Her heart was hammering now. Not at any time in her vision had he asked her to marry him, and her mind was racing. One thing she could not allow, was the joyous, hopeful surge of love and desire taking hold of her.   
“Why?” She demanded.  
“Because...” he looked confused now. “Do you love me?”  
“You know I do.”  
“Then why would we not-“  
“I loved you a moon ago when you turned me away.”  
He winced. “I’m sorry, Dany.”  
She shook her head. “It’s fine. I made peace with it.”   
She loved him too much, this was unbearable.   
“You don’t want to be with me,” he said, and the hurt on his face seared her. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, her voice ragged. “You see love and duty as separate things, and you’ll always choose duty first. I would never be first to you, not ever. You think you could love me now, because it won’t last. I’ll be dead soon and you can just go back to your life in the North.” He was staring at her in horror now, but her raging heartbreak had seized her and she couldn’t stop. “You say you would die for me, but Jon, there are so many things, people, ideas you would die for. Anyone or anything, if you can be made to believe it’s your duty. You’d die for your family. You’d die for the North. You’d die for the free folk. You’d die for the Nights Watch. You’re good and honorable and I love that, Jon. But I’ll never be as precious to you as your duty. And if some duty presents itself to you that seems greater than whatever duty you have to me...”  
You’ll murder me with your mouth still on mine, she thought.  
Her voice broke then, and she rushed from him, back to her room, where she could allow herself to collapse into tears.

She laid across her bed and allowed the sobs to wrack her body.  
He had watched her fall apart in that other life, watched her be destroyed, piece by piece, a drawn out murder of her spirit. He had watched her lose everything.   
And finally, after she’d broken utterly, he had urged her to forgive.  
You can forgive them all, he’d said. Make them understand, make them see they made a mistake.  
Moons of isolation, crushing loss, abandonment, he wanted her to forgive.  
Yet he’d given her only minutes. One short conversation, and then he’d abandoned any idea of forgiveness and plunged his dagger into her.

Because hers was to be strong, hers was to forgive, hers was to be merciful.   
But she deserved no compassion in her own pain and weakness, and if she broke, she deserved no forgiveness and no mercy. 

And now of course he thought he loved her. But love was not such a brittle thing, and his broke far too easily, long before she’d burned the city. 

She hated that she was tempted. She was like to die anyway, how lovely it would be to spend the last of her life in his arms, in his bed, as his wife. To let him pretend he loved her.  
He believed it, she knew that. And Gods help her, she still loved him. It was coursing through her, this love that threatened to engulf her.  
But what if some conflict came up between her and his family, or his North?   
He would abandon her and she would be worse off for allowing herself to believe she could have that happiness, only to have it torn away. 

And she had already forgiven him, hadn’t she? She’d come to the North after all, she’d had that one blissful moment with him.   
And once he’d found out about his relation to her, he’d turned from her just the same.   
She thought now how he’d made love to her in that other life only after he’d found out she couldn’t have children.   
And now with the likelihood that she may have so little time left, he had offered her marriage. Maybe he felt some duty to her, and felt confident he could fulfill it, as she would only be alive for so short a time?  
She felt so confused, so lost.   
She heard a knock at the door and tried to wipe the tears.  
“Come in,” she called.  
Lady Olenna entered with a box in her hands, smiling warmly.   
“Since you gave away the last box, I figured I’d bring you a fresh...what’s the matter, child?” She sat on the bed beside her, gently pushing her hair back from her face.  
“Nothing,” Dany said, and Lady Olenna frowned at her.  
“My dear, I can see by your face it’s not nothing. What happened?”  
Dany could not explain without sounding utterly mad, so she just shook her head. “I’m just feeling sad, I...I may be over sensitive.”  
Dany saw the older woman’s face cloud over, then soften into an expression of such tenderness she thought she might cry again.  
“It’s your condition, isn’t it? My grandson and I have been writing to Maesters, to the Citadel, to healers in Essos. If there’s a way to heal you, I swear to you, we will find it.”  
“I appreciate that so much,” Dany murmured. “I know Lord Willas wrote to Kinvara, she gave me something to heal the infection. I might have already died if not for that.”  
“There must be some way,” Lady Olenna said. “And we will not give up.”   
“Thank you,” Dany said and her voice broke.  
Lady Olenna squeezed her hand.   
“Why don’t you lay down, eat some of these sweets, and just relax? Don’t think about anything right now, all right?”  
Dany smiled gratefully and curled up on the bed. She was going to start on the sweets, but exhaustion overtook her and she felt herself falling asleep, and she could feel Lady Olenna’s hand stroking her hair as she drifted into troubled dreams.

***********************

Tyrion had returned from his ride with Lord Willas to find a commotion. Dothraki were carrying a headless body from Winterfell, women were sobbing, and Tyrion felt his stomach drop.  
He and Willas hurried inside. In the great hall, they found Sansa pale and shaking, Lady Lyanna and Missandei comforting her.  
“What happened?” He asked.   
“Lord Glover was angry and drunk, and he threatened to kill us,” Sansa said.   
Tyrion glanced around. “Where are Jaime and Ser Brienne?”  
“They’ve been out all morning,” Sansa said, sniffling.   
“Qhono killed Glover,” Missandei offered.   
“Is everyone all right?” Tyrion asked.   
“We’re all right physically,” Sansa assured him.   
“But...he came in here screaming...had his sword out...” Sansa looked down at her hands. “I need to gather my thoughts,” she said. “I’ll be at the Godswood.”  
She stood and left the room, and Tyrion called after her. “Is there anything I can do?”   
Sansa shook her head and kept walking.   
Tyrion sighed, shuddering, and went to Varys’ chambers. 

To his shock, Varys was drinking from a goblet of wine.  
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drink before,” he observed, sitting down and pouring himself a goblet as well.  
“It seems to work for you,” Varys said.  
“Are you marinating yourself for the dragons?”  
Varys looked at him sharply, paling slightly. “It’s a jape, Varys. Daenerys didn’t mention you in her letter at all. If she planned to execute you she would have requested your arrest.”  
“And you?”  
Tyrion shook his head. “She said I should stay here and advise Sansa. If I’m amenable. But she’s at Dragonstone recuperating. Apparently some stones fell on her during the rescue and broke her ribs. And it could not have helped that she had no chance to rest during her ride to Kings Landing. She and Jon flew the dragons in and out of the city rescuing people.” He sighed. “I suspect she’ll be looking for a new Hand soon.”  
“Perhaps not,” Varys soothed. “She has a forgiving nature.”  
“She’s forgiven too much of me already. What’s happening to her now, with the infection, would not be happening had I not written to Jaime. And now this. I kept a secret that could have caused an unconscionable loss of life, including hers. We’re fortunate she isn’t executing both of us for treason.”  
“Well, there are worse things than advising your former wife.”  
“Perhaps. But Sansa is not even inclined to listen to her brother, and he’s the king. There’s little hope she’ll listen to me. She gave Sandor Clegane Deepwood Motte, as I’m sure you know.”  
“I didn’t know,” Varys said.  
“Robett Glover came here today and tried to kill her. Qhono came in and killed him. It’s a disaster. You were here, how did you miss it?”  
“I’ve barely left this room,” Varys admitted and Tyrion looked at him in consternation.  
“Varys. What kind of Master of Whispers are you?”  
Varys sighed. “A Master of Whispers who’s in disgrace. My allegiance has always been to the realm, and I almost destroyed it.”  
Tyrion sighed. “Varys, you made a mistake. I murdered my lover. I murdered my father. My plans would have killed Lady Olenna and her family, lost us three allies, and killed Viserion. My choice to write to my brother almost killed our queen.”  
“And I don’t see you doing much but drinking wine, either.”  
“Lord Willas thinks that Jon knows Sansa gave Deepwood Motte to Sandor Clegane.”  
“Jon doesn’t know?”  
“I don’t think he does.”  
Varys frowned. “He’s not going to be happy about that.”  
“I think he would support a reward for him. He is the reason Sansa wasn’t raped and murdered in Kings Landing. He’s likely the reason Arya is alive. He helped fight the war for the Dawn. But Jon won’t like that she made such a decision without consulting him...” his thoughts wandered again.  
“And when he returns with his men-“ Varys began.  
“I don’t think he’s returning with them,” Tyrion said. “He went to Dragonstone with Daenerys.”  
Varys frowned. “He loves her.”  
“Yes, I believe he does.”  
“She has said on more than one occasion now, that she would respect Northern independence. But with their king so in love with her, I wonder how that will play out,” Varys observed.  
“Daenerys restated her promise in her letter. There wasn’t much enthusiasm among the women when Sansa mentioned it,” Tyrion noted.

“And why should there be?” Varys said. Winter is here. Ramsey Bolton destroyed the glass gardens of Winterfell, and it’s not as if Myrish glass is easy to come by. It’s expensive. This will severely affect their ability to grow food. The North always suffered the worst in winter, even with the glass gardens. In centuries past, all the kingdoms would be getting ready for winter. Gathering food. But these last few years, they’ve been at war. For all Sansa Stark’s claiming she’d ensured the stores would last through winter, she’d told Lord Royce there wasn’t enough.”

“How do you know this?”

“Give me some credit,” Varys chided. “And then add in the bandits who’ve been roaming Westeros, taking what little stores the people have. Independence at such a time would be tantamount to suicide by starvation. In the summer, maybe it could work, or if we hadn’t been at war for years. And then of course, there’s the issue of Daenerys herself. She came North, promised to uphold their independence, saved their women and children, fought beside them, and did not ask them to fight for her. They chose to do so. And then she flew to them to rescue them.”

“You think they’ll bend the knee to her?”

“I think it’s quite surprising they haven’t already. And if indeed she and their own king rescued them on dragons at Kings Landing, this will only seal it. Particularly if Jon advises them to.”

“Sansa won’t like that,” Tyrion said.   
“There may not be much she can do about it,” Varys said. 

“Jon showed no inclination toward bending the knee to her when he came to Dragonstone to ask her for help. It was clear he and the North would prefer to die at the hands of the dead than accept a Southern ruler.”  
“That was before they met her, and before Jon fell in love with her,” Varys pointed out. “And in any event, if Sansa is defying the king already-“  
“She’s not defying him exactly-“  
“Fine, if she’s already taking it upon herself to give out parcels of land without his knowledge. She needs an advisor.”  
“She’s not going to listen to anything I have to say. Particularly after she saw my actions endanger my queen’s life.”  
“I’d advise you to try.”  
“Besides which, I did something similar.”  
“You gave away land?”  
“I promised Harrenhal to Bronn.”  
“Does Daenerys know?”  
“No,” Tyrion said miserably. “I hadn’t had an opportunity to bring it up.”  
“And now who knows when you’ll see her again?”  
“And when I do see her again, she’ll likely be asking for her Hand pin back, and will hardly be open to handing out land to a sellsword at my request.”  
“Well...death by sellsword is likely preferable to death by dragonfire,” Varys said, smiling faintly.   
Tyrion looked at him, surprised. “Is that a jape?” He smiled. “Good to have you back, Varys.”

************************

Sansa was shaking with anger.  
She had asked Bran to tell her exactly what had happened after the burning of Kings Landing. Daenerys’ letter had only said that Jon had chosen to accompany her to Dragonstone, to stay on with her for a time. Sansa knew Daenerys had been hurt in the rescue, and she knew Jon was stupidly in love with her, but to abandon his people to follow his silver haired queen was ludicrous.  
Now she could only sit in pale rage as she looked at Bran in disbelief.  
“It may have been a formality,” he said, his impassive voice irking her further.   
“A formality,” she spat.   
She stood up and began pacing.   
“Jon was standing with her,” Bran said, but nothing about his expressionless voice comforted her. “They may not have intended it as it happened.”  
“But they bent the knee to her,” Sansa snapped. “She said she was proud to serve as their queen, and they bent the knee.”  
“She thanked them for fighting for her. All the armies bent the knee. Jon stood beside her. It doesn’t mean they consider her their queen. But...” Bran broke off.  
“But what?”  
“I’m only telling you this because you asked,” Bran said.  
“Then tell me!” She stormed.  
“They saw what all the kingdoms look like. Most of them have been destroyed by war. Our glass gardens were destroyed. You know this.”  
Arya entered the room where they sat, and took a chair between them, holding a bowl of stew.   
“Are you all right?” She asked Sansa, her features fierce with concern. “I heard Lord Glover came and threatened you.”  
“Former Lord Glover, and yes, he did. He was going to kill me and Lady Lyanna. He was drunk. Missandei got one of those Dothraki to come in and he killed him.”  
“But he didn’t hurt you?” Arya’s eyes searched Sansa for injury.  
“No,” she said. “I’m just shaken. Does it look like The Hound will be able to plant anything at Deepwood Motte?”  
Arya shrugged. “I don’t think so. Winter already started and he doesn’t know anything about farming. And I think they only planted oats and barley before. He’s just there now because it’s empty,” she added with a slight laugh.   
“Well, what’s he planning to do with it?”  
“Nothing, really.”  
“Nothing?”  
“He didn’t think you were going to give him land. He said so.”  
“If he didn’t want it, he could have-“  
“He’ll take it if you’re set on giving it to him, he’s not going to turn down a gift. He respects you too much.”  
Sansa was pacing. “Our armies bent the knee to Daenerys.”  
“Jon was standing right next to her,” Bran clarified.  
“It’s the principle, Bran.”  
“Why did they bend the knee? Didn’t she say she would respect our independence?” Arya asked.  
“She thanked the armies for fighting for her,” Bran said, and repeated what he’d told Sansa.  
“Well that’s not as if they declared her their queen. Especially if Jon was standing there,” Arya said.   
“They were already talking about her all the time, and now that this happened with her rescuing them all with her dragons-“  
“Jon was rescuing them too,” Bran said.  
“You’re getting yourself too upset about this,” Arya said. “It was probably out of respect. This is the second time in as many moons that she risked her life to save them. I’d be more worried about what Jon’s going to say when he finds out you gave Sandor Deepwood Motte without discussing it with him.”  
“I wanted to do something for him,” she said defensively.  
“Sansa, you’re my sister. And I love you. And Sandor is one of my best friends. But you know you should have talked to Jon.”  
“Daenerys didn’t talk to anyone before giving Gendry Storms End.”  
“Daenerys is the queen. And Gendry is the last Baratheon. Is that why you did it? Because she gave Gendry his father’s land?”  
Sansa glared at Arya, then her face fell and she sat down again, her head dropping into her hands.  
Arya looked at her sympathetically, reaching over and rubbing her back.  
“It just seems like everything she does is appreciated and everything I do is wrong,” Sansa said.   
“This time,” Bran said.   
Sansa frowned. “This time?”  
But Bran was looking off to the distance again. 

*************************

Daenerys had received a raven that morning, with a missive stating that Grey Worm had arrived with his envoy to meet with Missandei, and would be leaving Winterfell, to return to Daenerys. She was eager to see Missandei again. She was anxious, as Missandei had written that a dispossessed lord named Glover had stormed into the great hall of Winterfell, and tried to murder Sansa. Qhono had killed him, and Dany was afraid that the Northmen would harm him to seek revenge. He had saved Sansa’s life, and Dany was trying to remind herself that the Northerners might be more fair and rational than she had originally thought, but she couldn’t say what their reaction would be to someone ‘foreign’ killing one of their own, even to protect the sister of their king.   
Of course, her Dothraki wouldn’t stand by and allow Qhono to be harmed, and it could result in a bloodbath. She shuddered.

She was feeling physically better today than she had in some time. She wondered if she was well enough to ride Drogon. She missed him. Missed the sky. And being near him and his brothers rejuvenated her. 

She felt guilty now at her reaction to Jon’s inexplicable proposal. She knew she couldn’t ever expect him to love her as she loved him, but she could have been gentler.  
He likely believed he loved her, at least. And maybe he did, just a little.  
Lady Olenna’s comfort had soothed her beyond measure. Her promise that she and Lord Willas were looking for ways to save her had touched her, filled her with hope that even if she could not be saved, she would be remembered fondly, and not as a mad queen.  
She walked outside, looking out over the bay, watching her dragons and smiling. She was still thinking about riding Drogon, and she knew she should keep practicing with his brothers as well.

Ser Jorah had promised that he would practice sparring with her again as well once she recovered, but she knew she might never recover.   
She wasn’t going to press the issue because for all his insistence that he was fine, she knew he’d been hurt in the Kings Landing fires and she wanted him to be fully recovered before attempting anything strenuous. Once he was fully recuperated, they could resume practice.   
Winning the throne did not mean that she no longer had enemies, and she knew she had to stay on top of her skills lest they be forgotten. Especially now, when she was weaker than she’d ever been.

She turned to walk toward the cliffs, and saw Jon, almost walking into him.   
“Good morning,” she said carefully.  
“Good morning, Your Grace.”  
Oh, we’re back to ‘Your Grace’, are we? She thought.  
“I apologize for my...outburst,” she said softly.  
He studied her. “Your outburst? Is that what it was?”  
“Wasn’t it?”  
“Do you really think I asked you to marry me because I think you’ll die? I would trade anything I have to save you.”  
She closed her eyes. “I appreciate that, Jon, but-“  
“But you don’t want to be with me now.”  
“It’s not that simple. Where would we live? You don’t like the south. You know you don’t.”  
“I could manage.”  
“You don’t want to rule with me.”  
“I don’t want to rule at all. But I want to be with you, I want to see the world, what it looks like, when you’re done with it.”  
Build the new world with me, she’d entreated him. She winced.  
“What? What is it?” He asked.  
She shook her head. “Nothing. I’m just...just thinking about something from   
a dream...”  
“A dream of me.”  
“Yes,” she said heavily. “A dream of you.”  
“You said I spoke of the North in a dream. That you dreamed of the Night King. The dead army. You dreamed you burned everything.”  
She nodded. “Yes.”  
“Did I...hurt you? In your dream?”  
“It doesn’t matter. It was a dream.”  
He sighed, and she could see his frustration. “It matters,” he said, “because it still hurts you.”  
She shrugged. “It may always hurt me. But it’s not real now.”  
“Not real now?”  
“Did you read your letter?” She asked. She didn’t want to dwell here, and the issue of Glover and Qhono was weighing on her mind.  
“My letter?” He looked at her quizzically.  
“The ravens that came this morning brought letters. Did you read yours?”  
He sighed. “Not yet.”  
“You should,” she told him sternly, then explained what Missandei had said in hers.  
“Glover tried to kill Sansa?” He demanded in horror. “Why?”  
“He was drunk. He was angry about his land.”  
“Why would be go after her? Why not wait for me?”  
“I don’t know, Jon. Maybe he was afraid to wait for you. You have quite a reputation with your sword. Maybe he was angry that she gave the land away.”  
“She gave it away?”  
“Jon. Read your letter. We need to figure out what to do. If the Northern armies seek to avenge Glover by harming Qhono, my Dothraki will avenge him, and we’ll have a battle on our hands between our armies. This is not the way to begin a peaceful relationship between our kingdoms.”  
“I have to go back to Winterfell.”  
“Yes.”  
He looked at her as if he would say something else, then sighed and walked back to the castle.   
She watched him, then turned to walk toward the cliffs.   
She needed to fly. 

**********************************

Qyburn woke slowly, to the scent of meat cooking. He glanced at the small pallet he’d made of silks and pillows for Joanna, and cold fingers of panic squeezed his chest.   
She was gone!   
He jumped off his own flat pallet and out of the covered wagon in one movement, and almost fell in relief, as he saw Meera holding the infant, speaking to her softly.

“The Neck was not always a swamp. In the Dawn Age, it was dry and fertile as the rest of the North. But during the war with the First Men, the Children of the Forest brought down the Hammer of Waters on the Neck, trying to break Westeros in two.”

She turned at Qyburn’s approach, smiling.  
“I’m sorry,” she said, seeing his expression. “She was awake, and you seemed to need the rest...and I haven’t held a babe since my brother.” Sadness passed over her features.   
Qyburn nodded and sat beside her. She was cooking some kind of bird on a makeshift spit,   
And the scent was overwhelming. But he was much more concerned with Joanna. The milk he’d brought for her from the Red Keep was long gone, and only a little was left from what he’d bought afterwards.  
Meera saw his frown. “There’s a keep near here, we can see if they’ll give us some milk for her.”  
“Thank you,” he said.   
“I can see you’re very dedicated to her. Her clothes are the finest I’ve ever seen, and your own...”  
He smiled. His own were in terrible shape, he knew, and truly he didn’t care.  
After they ate, they began riding again.  
It was a few hours before they reached the keep Meera had mentioned, but when they arrived there, it was mostly burned.  
Qyburn watched as she rushed about the keep, searching for survivors, and walked slowly through the ruin with Joanna.   
He saw Meera bent over, and as he drew closer, he saw a young man, maybe two and twenty, leaning against a barrel.   
He’d been injured, and Meera was giving him water from the skin she carried.   
Her eyes were large and sad. She took out the bronze knife she carried, and looked at the man, murmuring to him.   
The man nodded, and Qyburn realized she meant to kill him.   
“Wait,” Qyburn said, stepping closer. “What are you doing?”  
“He’s dying,” Meera said softly.   
Qyburn leaned close to the man, who glared at him.   
“Why don’t you go away and let her release me, old man?” He demanded.  
Qyburn looked at the blood on his shirt, dried and crusted, and could smell the infection festering beneath it.   
“Let me look at it,” he implored, his voice gentle.  
“There’s nothing you can do,” the man growled at him. “You can smell it. I’m already dead.”  
“The nearest Maester is at Winterfell, and it’s past any healing,” Meera added, but her own voice was tinged with sadness.  
Qyburn had handed Joanna to Meera and torn the man’s shirt, and studied the vicious festering wound in the man’s side.   
“It’s bad,” he conceded. “But I’ve seen far worse. I have milk of the poppy, I’ll get some. It will help you sleep.” He turned to Meera. “I believe he can recover, but he should travel with us. This will take longer than one treatment.”

He walked back to the wagon to gather his supplies. Meera Reed had done him a great service, and he was happy he could do something for her in return. He knew she was skeptical. How could she not be? But this was nowhere near the festering that had happened to Ser Gregor, and indeed the infection itself was not even as bad as Jaime Lannister’s had been when they’d met. What made this man’s so dangerous was its location, so close to his vital organs. Qyburn cursed the Maesters of the Citadel, not for the first time.  
He understood their expelling him, as devastated as he’d been at the time.   
But they could have at least shared and used his findings.

Qyburn wondered how many had died thinking it was the only way, thinking there could be no way to save them, because of the Maesters’ moralizing. He thought again about Cersei, and he was saddened again at her loss.   
He gave the man the milk of the poppy, and once he’d fallen asleep, Qyburn began to work.

***************************

Jon had decided to go to bed early the night before, as he would be sailing for Winterfell in the morning.  
Sansa’s letter had unnerved him. He didn’t want to leave Dany. If her infection came back, if it claimed her life while he was attending to his duties in the North, he would never forgive himself.   
He was still frustrated that he could not seem to make Daenerys understand how dearly he loved her. He was a little angry that she’d said he’d only proposed because she was going to die. As if he truly didn’t want to be with her forever.   
He’d tried to tell himself that she didn’t love him anymore, and truly, he had believed that. But if that was the case, then she should say that, he thought.   
But her expression was not that of a woman who didn’t love him.  
More, that she wished she didn’t.   
He did not fall asleep easily, and when he did, it was fitful. And then dreams came.   
He woke feeling as though he hadn’t slept at all, and he had to get to Dany.   
He rushed to her room, banging at her door, and was told by a sleepy, startled servant that Dany had gone flying on Drogon.  
Jon stumbled outside to wait for her, and was relieved that barely a quarter of an hour later she returned, and she looked flushed and happy.   
She was surprised to see him, he could see that by her raised eyebrows, but she wasn’t unhappy. 

“I thought you’d have left by now,” she said.

“Dany, I have to tell you...I don’t know if it’s like the wildfire dream...it doesn’t feel like the wildfire dream, it didn’t have the urgency. So I don’t know...but it was a dream. It felt real. While it was happening, it felt so real.” He realized he was not making sense now, and sighed deeply, pressing his hands to his eyes. 

Her expression was gentle, and she rested her hand on his shoulder. “What was the dream?”

“I...I dreamed you were dead.”

She tilted her head to one side thoughtfully. “Well, I’ve been unwell for some time. It makes sense you might have such a dream. Are you hungry? You should break your fast before you leave.”

He followed her as she walked toward the castle.   
“I don’t know what it means,” he said. “Maybe it’s because you’re going to Kings Landing soon-“  
“Tomorrow,” she said. “We leave tomorrow. We’re just waiting for Missandei and Grey Worm.”  
“And all that talk of wildfire. And yes. You being unwell. Maybe that’s what it was. But it felt real, Dany.”  
“What was the dream?”  
“You were dead.”  
She glanced back at him. “You told me that part. Was there anything else?”

“It was in the throne room...I think it was. I’ve never seen it, but it was a...a terribly broken room and a throne made out of swords.”

She stopped walking then and turned to him. “Broken?”

“That’s what made me think of wildfire.” He started to describe the room in his dream, the exposed sky, the walls and ceiling gone, as if destroyed by some cataclysm, and snow falling all around. 

“Or ash,” she interrupted, her voice strange now, her eyes locked on his face intently.  
“Ash?”  
“Maybe it was ash falling.”  
He frowned. “Maybe,” He said. He really didn’t care whether it was ash or snow, it was the horror at the center of the room, of his dream, that clawed at him. “But you were dead. I was holding you and-“

“How did I die?” She demanded.   
“I...I don’t know. Maybe the ceiling caving in-“  
“Did I look like I was crushed by a crumbling ceiling?”   
Jon frowned. Her voice sounded almost accusing.   
“No. But I thought maybe you were trying to get out of the room and-“  
“What happened before?”  
“I don’t know. But if that wildfire detonates and you-“  
“The wildfire is under the Keep, Jon. What you’re describing was an attack from above.”  
Jon frowned. “How...” he broke off, seeing the intensity in her eyes, bright and fixed on his. 

“What happened after?” She asked him.

“After?”

“I died, you don’t remember how, you were holding me...then what?”

“Then...” he thought again of the dream, trying to remember the pieces. “Drogon came. The wall was gone. He...he came close and I...I laid you down in the snow-“

“Ashes.”

“Fine, ashes. And he...he nudged you. A few times. Like he was trying to wake you...” it had hurt his heart in the dream, and Dany shuddered now as if it hurt her as well. “And then he realized you were gone and he roared, just screamed at the sky, and I thought he would burn me...but he turned his fire on the throne. He just burned it and burned it until it was molten, pouring over the dais...”  
“He melted the throne?”  
“He did. Then he took you and flew away.”  
She nodded, and shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.  
“I wondered...” she said softly. “And then what happened?”  
“Then I woke up. Dany, I’m concerned about the wildfire, if it-“  
“It wasn’t wildfire.”  
“How do you know?”  
“I had the same dream.”  
Jon stared at her. “You dreamed the throne room was destroyed?”  
“I dreamed the entire city was destroyed.”  
“Well...it was...”  
“No. Not like this.”  
“How?”  
“I...I burned it. Remember I told you I dreamed I burned everything?”  
“Why?” He asked in disbelief.  
“I was...broken. Everyone who ever really loved me was dead. Except Drogon and Grey Worm. I just...I can’t justify it, Jon. I’ve been going over it for moons now, and I can’t...I just have to try to never become that person again. That’s all I can do.”  
She turned and started walking again, and he followed her.   
“I was alive,” he said. “I loved you.”   
She glanced at him. “You think you loved me?”  
“In my dream, I was devastated. I was holding you and-“  
“And we were in the throne room. And I suppose you think I suddenly dropped to the floor, dead,” she snapped.   
“Dany...”  
She turned to him, and her eyes were fierce, angry but full of grief. “I asked you to be with me. To build the new world with me. After everything you did, after everything you didn’t do. I trusted you and I loved you anyway. But all your Northern honor about looking into a man’s eyes when you pass the sentence, to hear his final words, that was just wind, wasn’t it? All that talk about mercy and forgiveness. Just wind. Because I wasn’t deserving of any of that.”  
Jon felt suddenly, terribly cold. “Dany, did I...did I kill you?”  
“You said I was your queen. Now and always. And you kissed me. And then while you were kissing me you put that dagger of yours into me.”  
“I would never do that to you,” he said fiercely.  
“And I would never burn a city full of civilians. But here we are.” She shuddered again, closing her eyes. When she opened them again, she looked tired. “Go home, Jon. Go back to Winterfell, to your North, to your family. Take care of your duty. All the things you love, truly love. I’ll be sending letters to come to me once everything is ready, so we can go over the terms of independence. I will keep my promise, you can assure them of that. If you choose not to come, you need not worry. I could never hurt you. Not in this life or any other.”

She turned then and walked back to the castle.   
Jon watched her in silence. He felt sick, and empty. He wanted to follow her, but knew that she wished him to leave her alone.  
He walked slowly toward the ship that would bring him back to Winterfell and away from her.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, I am so so grateful for your feedback! You are all so awesome! Thank you so much!  
This chapter is almost like a bridge chapter, a lot of people traveling, but Jon gets the whole story from Bran and Dany finally sits on that throne!

Chapter Twenty 

Jon was walking to the ship that would sail him home. There could be no gain in following Daenerys back to the castle. She had been quite clear that she didn’t wish to be anywhere near him. 

He hesitated as he saw her dragons flying over the castle. He wanted to say goodbye to Rhaegal. He wondered if that would anger her, if he approached her dragon without her consent. His connection to the dragon might not be like the one he had with Ghost, but it was there, and Rhaegal had saved his life. Flying on his back had been the only way he could have saved the lives of others, in the war with the dead and in the burning of Kings Landing. 

He would never forget what it had felt like to ride the dragon, to fly over the snow back at Winterfell, when Dany had insisted that they practice before the Great War.   
Had she had this dream, of him killing her, when she invited him to ride Rhaegal?   
When she told him, “neither of us is alone”?  
When he’d had her at Winterfell? 

Had she known that there was some life they’d lived together, that would end with him slipping a knife into her while kissing her, and chosen to join his war with the dead despite that?  
Ser Jorah was walking toward him, toward the ship. 

“Your Grace,” he greeted him, “I volunteered to join you. Her Grace will send more ships as well. Once the Northern armies arrive, I’ll sail with the Dothraki to Kings Landing.”  
Jon nodded absently. He was numb, still reeling.  
“Thank you,” he managed.  
“Are you all right?”  
“Aye, I just found out about something that...” he broke off.  
Ser Jorah’s eyes grew sympathetic. “I know.”  
“You know?” Jon stared at him.

“I was there when Her Grace read the letter. My cousin was there when it happened. I think that’s part of the reason she sent me,” he added. “I can only imagine what must be going through your head, with your sister being attacked like that, by a man who was once sworn to your House.”

“You’re talking about what happened with Lord Glover,” Jon said.   
Ser Jorah looked at him quizzically. “Yes, of course. Was there something else?”

Jon almost laughed.   
He was thinking about this dream of Dany’s, and yet a man had tried to kill his sister. His sister had given away land, Northern land, without consulting with him, to a man who was heir to land in the Westerlands. One of Dany’s Dothraki had beheaded the former Northern Lord, and maybe the Northern armies would avenge him, and if so, a battle would ensue, and it could lead to a bloodbath. All this, and his mind could only cling to the expression on Dany’s exquisite face, the grieving in her voice, when she’d told him of her dream.

And she thinks she’s not a priority to me, he thought bitterly. 

“No. There’s nothing else,” he said dully.  
He studied Ser Jorah, and wondered if he knew about her dream. He was one of Dany’s closest friends. Maybe he did, and Jon would lay down money that Missandei and Grey Worm knew as well. 

He couldn’t think of a way to broach the subject, and instead boarded the ship with the knight and remained silent.   
He knew he would have to focus on the things happening at Winterfell, but all he could think about was Dany. 

She’d had her men mining the dragonglass before he’d arrived at Dragonstone. How much had she known then?   
And she had told him she’d burned Kings Landing. That there were people there when she’d done it.   
And I would never burn a city full of civilians, she’d told him. But here we are. Those were her words.  
Why had she done it?   
She wouldn’t, his mind railed back.   
Yet she’d said that she had.   
Jon shuddered. He could not reconcile in his mind the queen who had agreed to come with him to help save his people, his home, all of humanity, with the queen who would burn a city full of civilians. What had happened to her in this dream?   
And why had he killed her? Was it because of her burning the capitol?  
He thought about how he’d reacted when his own men had stabbed him. He’d hung them. Even Olly, who had been younger than Bran. Their reasons for killing him hadn’t mattered to him.   
Dany hadn’t taken any revenge. Of course, he hadn’t done it, not in this life. But she had welcomed him onto Dragonstone, had allowed him to ride Rhaegal, had fought beside him to save his people. She had lain with him. She’d offered her love and support when he’d found out his identity.   
Perhaps taking revenge for something he hadn’t done would strike her as unjust, but she certainly didn’t owe him anything.  
She was good, he thought. That was it. She was inherently good, yet within her lurked something dark, something that could crumble cities.   
And she loved him. He knew this, unequivocally.   
He stood at the ship’s stern, watching Dragonstone grow smaller, the dragons above it almost like birds at such distance.   
She would be leaving for Kings Landing to take her throne at last. How he wished he could be there. To see her sit for the first time on that hideous throne of swords that had been her goal for so long. 

*******************************

Daenerys was tired again.   
The conversation with Jon had sapped her energy, and she sat in her room, too unsettled to sleep and too exhausted to do anything else. 

She felt a strange sense of cleansing. She’d told Jon she’d burnt Kings Landing. He knew now what she could be capable of doing, and would surely never again offer his love to her. It hurt her, but she knew this had to be the best thing for both of them.

He hated the South, he was a man of the North, of cold winds and snow.   
And she was a woman of heat and light.   
Even without their tumultuous and terrible ethereal blueprint of betrayal and murder, even without their blood relation that repulsed him, how could they have ever been together?   
One of them would have had to live in a world, a climate, they hated.

His face was etched in her mind, his expression of utter disbelief when she had told him she’d burned the city.   
She remembered his anger at her that day.  
Children! Little Children! Burned!   
She shuddered. It frightened her to her core to think about that day.   
The horror of death and destruction she had wrought was enough to make her feel sick. But worse, and more terrifying, was the memory of what she’d felt.

Since the night of her vision, she’d been crushed by terrible guilt, almost crippled by fear of this thing that existed within her, that could strike out in sudden vicious spite and kill hundreds of thousands in an afternoon.  
But what filled her with a dread far worse, was remembering how she’d stood, almost unaffected, at Jon’s impassioned words.  
She used their innocence as a weapon against me. She thought it would cripple me, she’d told him.   
And this was true, but once she’d taken the city, she’d targeted civilians and worse, she could not recall feeling any remorse at all.  
She could never, ever allow herself to become that person, that broken queen who had decided mercy was only destruction, compassion only a weakness.

She knew she had to begin preparations for sailing to Kings Landing. She wanted to be excited.   
By tomorrow she would see the throne, the sharp imposing thing she’d only seen in visions. She would sit down on that throne and it would be hers.   
And then there would be work, so much work. A crumbling, impoverished, war torn continent would be hers. She had to plan, had to figure out how to feed them and rebuild the realm. Lady Olenna had assured her that she would provide assistance, but Dany didn’t wish to take advantage of her. She had to rebuild her own ruined castle. 

She stood, resolutely getting dressed. She was not going to allow herself to be pulled into the despair of losing Jon’s love.   
Perhaps they could have some kind of familial relationship. If he was willing to have a relationship with her at all, knowing now what she had done, what she had become in that other life. He was the last of her blood relation. She knew he would never love her or cherish her as he loved his Stark family. But over time they could build something, some kind of tenderness again. They would keep peace among their kingdoms. 

She thought dismally that there was also a good chance she would never see him again. That she would receive only a letter from the North accepting her affirmation of their independence, and that would be it.  
She sighed deeply. If that was how it must be, she had to accept it. 

******************************

Sansa sat at her father’s desk, looking at the lists she’d made of their stores. She felt tense. Lord Willas was leaving today, with Grey Worm and Missandei, and Jon would be home in another few days.   
She looked again, unseeing, at the numbers, her calculations on how they might stretch the food.   
She had to acknowledge that the supplies provided by Daenerys and Lord Willas were of significant help.   
She would thank Lord Willas today before he left, and send her regards to Lady Olenna.   
She would have to wait to thank Daenerys. She’d almost thanked her, twice. She’d acknowledged that it had been a mistake not to thank her. Wasn’t that enough? And she’d thanked her for the medical supplies. 

People were singing songs about Jon and Daenerys, Arya and even Tyrion.   
Nobody sings songs about the people who pore tirelessly over supplies and stores, she thought bitterly.   
What was trying to feed a broken kingdom, when compared to riding dragons and killing the Night King?

A knock sounded at the door, and she started.  
“Come in,” she said tersely.   
Maester Wolkan entered, to tell her that their guests were leaving.   
She thanked him and walked to the courtyard, to wish them well, and to thank Grey Worm and his envoy for their service in fighting the Night King, to thank Missandei for summoning Qhono to kill Robett Glover, to thank Lord Willas for the extra stores, and send her regards to his grandmother.   
He smiled, and she felt her heart hitch at the warmth, his golden brown hair curling behind his ears.  
She watched them go, feeling dejected, and she saw Lord Tyrion at the other side of the courtyard looking the same.  
He wants to go with them, she thought. 

Lord Tyrion met her eyes and smiled, approaching her.   
“My Lady,” he greeted her.  
“How are you, Lord Tyrion?”  
“I’m well, I suppose,” he said. They walked back inside and he followed her back into her father’s study...was it her study now? Jon’s?  
She sat back down at the desk, and Tyrion sat across from her, looking at her lists.   
“Are you well?” He asked her.  
“As well as can be expected,” she said, sighing.   
“The stores look good.”  
“Perhaps, but this is expected to be a long winter. The glass gardens are gone. I’d hoped we would be able to have one more harvest, even a small one, but it’s too cold already.”  
“Have you considered...delaying your independence?”  
Sansa glared at him. “We already have our independence. What you’re suggesting is that we surrender it,” she snapped.  
“Only for a short time, My Lady.”  
Sansa shook her head. “And then how would we get it back?”  
“You would go before Daenerys and tell her you’d like it back.”  
“And if she says no?”  
“She won’t-“  
“You can’t say she won’t. If we agree to bend the knee to her now, that’s an oath. And then what? She uses what stores she can gather to get us through winter, and at the end of it, when we begin to see spring and summer, and recover from the war, she’ll just release us from our oath? I think not.”  
“I think she will. She doesn’t want to see anyone starve, and-“  
“It’s incredible to me that you believe that. My brother and now you.”  
“Your brother?”  
“Jon said she came here for no other reason than to save us-“  
“And that was true.”  
“Yet here you are, her Hand, trying to convince me that the North should bend the knee to her.”  
“She didn’t ask me to have this conversation with you. Varys and I were talking-“  
“Varys, who defied me and your queen-“  
“Lady Sansa, you don’t have the stores for all of winter. You know you don’t. The entire continent has been ravaged by war, and is on the brink of famine.”  
“And your queen has some magical plan for that?”  
“She has wealthy allies,” Tyrion said.   
Sansa studied him. “And you think these allies will have nothing to say if we take assistance in winter, then demand independence in spring? Have you considered what the southern lords will say? No, we have to make it through winter independent, if we are ever to have independence at all.”  
“Is having independence truly that necessary? A kingdom’s Warden is king in all but name, you know that.”  
“A Warden must answer to the Iron Throne. We don’t wish to do that, no matter who sits on it.”  
“Or is it you who doesn’t want that?”  
“The North doesn’t want that...Lord Tyrion, are you in love with her?”  
Sansa had expected anger or embarrassment, but Tyrion frowned thoughtfully.  
“No, My Lady,” he finally said. “I love her. I admire her. She’s my queen and my friend. But it’s not a romantic relationship.”  
“And you don’t find her attractive?”  
“Of course I find her attractive. But I’m not in love with her. Not as your brother is.”  
“Or Lord Willas,” Sansa said, and the bitterness crept back into her voice.   
Tyrion nodded. “Or Lord Willas.”  
“Or Ser Jorah.”  
“What is it you’re trying to say, Lady Sansa?”  
“Men are fools,” she snapped. “I have no intention of sacrificing our freedom for one winter.”  
“For survival,” Tyrion argued.  
“For survival,” she confirmed coldly. “She said she would respect our independence, and here you are, trying to-“  
“She asked me to advise you-“  
“To surrender our independence.”  
“You read the letter. She certainly didn’t write to me,” Tyrion said. “She said nothing about your independence except that she intends to uphold it. But I don’t know how long you will keep me on as an advisor, and I don’t know if or when Daenerys will reinstate me as her Hand. I don’t wish to starve while I’m waiting and I don’t wish for you to starve either.”  
“I think you’re underestimating us, Lord Tyrion,” she said, raising her chin.  
He smiled then. “Perhaps,” he conceded. He glanced around the room. “You don’t keep wine in here,” he observed.  
“Isn’t it a little early?”  
“It’s never too early for a good glass of wine.”  
She almost laughed. “Go on and get yourself some wine. I have to finish this planning and get ready for Jon’s return.”  
“He will not be happy that you gave away land without telling him.”  
“Then perhaps he should have come home instead of following Daenerys to Dragonstone,” she snapped.  
“Even if he had, he wouldn’t be back yet. And he was worried about her. She was hurt in the rescue, and-“  
“I understand that. I do. But his first duty is to his people, and if I am to be left here to oversee everything, I can’t be made to stop what I’m doing every minute to consult with him.”  
Tyrion sighed. “I told my friend he could have Harrenhal.”  
Sansa stared at him. “What did Daenerys say?”  
“She doesn’t know yet.”  
“How is that different from what I did?” Sansa demanded.  
“It isn’t. Not really. That’s why I told you. We...sometimes overestimate ourselves and we forget that we have a monarch who we must answer to.”   
Sansa sighed. “I guess we do,” she said. It annoyed her, to have to answer to Jon. She loved him, she respected and trusted him. But she did not like having to answer to him. The people had named him king, and she had to admit it rankled.   
“You seem quite taken with Lord Willas,” Tyrion observed.   
She sighed. “I remember what it was like, to be taken with a man, when I’m around him. I’d forgotten, really.”  
Tyrion smiled sadly at her, and she smiled back. 

*****************************

Tyrion sat in the great hall drinking wine with his brother and Ser Brienne. Jaime was tense, he was thinking about his babe, his little daughter lost in the world somewhere with the man who had burned Kings Landing.   
It had started snowing again, and the hall was full of people hoping to keep warm. Sansa came in with Bran and Arya, and sat down at their table.   
Food was brought out. It was stew again, and Tyrion was grateful for it.   
He wondered if Daenerys and her retinue had arrived at Kings Landing yet. Had she sat on the throne already?   
Tyrion had wanted so much to be there. He fingered his pin, the pin she’d given him when she’d named him Hand. He couldn’t be sure now that she would ever take him back as her Hand or even as an advisor, and he could hardly say he blamed her.  
But he missed her. He thought about Sansa, asking if he were in love with Daenerys. He had been surprised by the question. Surprised that Sansa would ask him.  
Daenerys was beautiful, certainly, and he had built his life around her, he realized now. And he didn’t regret it.   
He would see her again, when she called the lords and ladies to Kings Landing.   
He would be just another lord, just another person appearing before her to pay tribute. He missed his position with her, but more, he missed her. He missed his friendship with her. He knew that he’d endangered her, and as he’d told Varys, she’d forgiven too much already. How could he expect her to keep him as her Hand now?   
“It’s eerie to sit with you when you’re this quiet. I don’t think I remember you ever being this quiet,” Jaime said. “Are you all right?”  
“I’m all right,” Tyrion sighed. “Just thinking about my queen again.”  
“She’ll forgive you,” Jaime said.   
“I imagine she’ll forgive me in the sense that she won’t have me executed. But she’ll be giving this pin to someone else soon.”  
“You’re sure about that? Once she takes the throne, she’ll need good advice from someone who knows the game.”  
“I haven’t given her good counsel in a long time,” Tyrion sighed.   
“She said that your directions in the air the night of the battle were priceless.”  
“She did say that,” Tyrion said softly. “But my actions almost killed her, twice. And she could still very well die from the ramifications of the poisoning. She said in her letter I should stay here and advise Lady Sansa. She doesn’t want me anywhere near her.”  
Jaime glanced at Sansa, then back at Tyrion.  
“Could be worse,” he said, smiling.  
Tyrion looked at her as well.  
Sansa was talking to Arya, laughing about something. She was certainly beautiful, Tyrion thought. And smart. Not particularly open to counsel, Tyrion mused.  
Jaime was watching the Starks as well, and then suddenly he stood, approaching them. Tyrion followed him nervously.   
“Where is she now?” He asked Bran. “My daughter.”  
Bran looked at him. “She’ll be here in the next day or two.”  
Tyrion glanced at Jaime, who was staring at Bran in disbelief.   
“Here?” Jaime repeated.   
“Yes. Qyburn is bringing her here. To you. They’re traveling with an old friend of mine.”  
Bran almost smiled.   
It was so unusual that Tyrion smiled back. 

**************************

The journey North from Dragonstone had been too long, and then the ride from White Harbor to Winterfell, almost unbearable. Every stop along the way, people were singing songs about him, about Dany, about the battle for the Dawn and the fires at Kings Landing. About Arya slaying the Night King. These last made him smile, even though he knew well they would irk his sister. Arya would not like people singing songs of her.   
But the songs about him and Dany cut him to the bone. They were love songs, most of them. And he could not help but to think of her.  
He remembered again the talk of her beauty before he’d met her. And these songs they sang, made great declarations of her being as fair as the moon, as lovely as a starry sky and gleaming snow beneath. Her breast as white as the snow, her hair a silvery moonlit banner...and still, he knew, they did not do her justice. No song could have prepared him for what it was to look at her. To feel the air itself change when she entered a room.   
One man in a tavern recognized him in their travels, and the entire space seemed to shake with cheers as the man announced who Jon was. He was offered ale and food, and the innkeeper would not accept payment.  
“It’s an honor my king should enter my tavern,” he’d explained.   
They reached Winterfell in the evening, and Jon was greeted by Sansa and Arya. He embraced them, and sat with them to listen to what had happened in his absence.   
The story of Glover came out first, and then a myriad of other things happening. Varys hadn’t left his room since the night they found out about his intercepting the ravens. Tyrion had advised Sansa to consider abandoning their independence, and Jon could see rage in her eyes at this. Jaime kept asking Bran where his daughter might be, and finally Bran had told him he would see her sooner than they had thought. He’d cryptically added that, in fact, Qyburn was on his way to Winterfell with the babe and an old friend of Bran’s.   
“He almost smiled,” Arya observed.  
Jon found that intriguing, and he needed to ask Bran about Dany’s dream. He wasn’t sure if Bran could see that life she had dreamed, but he remembered when she’d first arrived at Winterfell.  
She’d landed Drogon on one of the ramparts and walked gracefully down his wing, smiled coolly at his people, who returned her smile with gazes of icy suspicion and fear.   
Bran had said to her, “this entrance was much better.”  
Jon thought it couldn’t hurt to ask him. 

Jon found Bran sitting under the weirwood tree, his eyes fixed somewhere far away. Jon waited, and when Bran’s gaze fixed on his, Jon smiled in greeting.   
“You said an old friend of yours is coming to Winterfell?” Jon asked.  
“Meera Reed. I’d have died if not for her. She left here before the war with the dead. She said I didn’t need her anymore.”  
Jon frowned. “What did you say?”  
“I told her she was right. I didn’t need her anymore.”  
Jon stared at him. “And I thought I was bad with words.”  
“I thought I didn’t need her. I suppose I don’t, not really. But I...wasn’t prepared.”  
“Prepared?”  
“For what I would feel when I knew I would see her again. I haven’t felt...in a long time.”  
Jon smiled. He hadn’t seen any emotion in Bran’s face since he’d been back.   
“But you wanted to talk to me about Daenerys,” Bran said. “She told you about the vision.”  
“Yes,” Jon said heavily. “You know about it.”  
“Yes.”  
“Is that something you can see? Other people’s dreams?”  
“Other people’s dreams, no. But this...there are thousands of ways things could happen. Millions, really. Any one action can change everything.”  
“And you can see them all?”  
He hesitated. “I can, but I don’t. I can’t see the future. Not clearly. Only in flashes. Because it’s uncertain. And I don’t like to look too much at the way things could have gone. It’s already too much, too overwhelming, to see what I see. The past. Everything happening now. All over. I wasn’t ready. It should happen over time, becoming the Three Eyed Raven. You lose something, when it happens too quickly. But the Night King marked me. He was able to get to us. The sight had to be given to me before I was able to take it in, and still be...Bran Stark. If I looked too much at the ways things could have gone, I would lose all context.”  
“I understand,” Jon said.  
Bran studied him. “You don’t, really. But you want to, and it’s kind of you. I don’t try to change things. Only the battle with the Night King, but that was about all humanity. So many terrible things happen all over, that I could never prevent all of it. What happened with Daenerys was different. She saw how her own pattern of choices would lead to her ruin. She lived it. We all did, but she and I are the only ones who remember all of it. I only remembered the things happening in that life as they happened. I didn’t know how she would arrive at Winterfell. But when you sent the raven that you were on your way home, that she would be meeting you here, I knew that the last time, she’d gone with you on your ship. I knew that the Night King had had Viserion.”  
“The Night King had Viserion?”  
“You had gone North to retrieve a wight, to present to Cersei. You were with a few other people. You sent Gendry to run back and send a raven to Daenerys, because the wight screamed. You knew there would be others. And there were. You were surrounded. She came on her dragons to rescue you, and the Night King killed Viserion with a spear.”  
Jon winced. “That’s how she knew about the spears.”  
“Yes. The Night King resurrected him, and burned down an opening in the Wall. He rode Viserion into battle in the Long Night.”  
Jon shuddered. “She must have been devastated.”  
“She was.”  
“She started mining the dragonglass before I got there.”  
“She had the vision before you got there.”  
“All of it?”  
“Yes.”  
“Could you...tell me all that happened?”  
“I can. We’d best go inside. This will be long, you’ll want to sit.”

Jon leaned back in his chair when Bran finished his tale. As he’d described the events, Jon would occasionally have a flash of memory, as if a piece of his own dream was being brought to light.   
“She’ll never trust me again.”  
“She might. She came here after the vision. She even coupled with you here at Winterfell.”  
Jon frowned. “She did. When I told her about...about my parents, she didn’t bring up any claim to the throne. Not until after the battle.”  
“She knew about it for moons.”  
“And she knew I just let her break. That I asked her for her help and then abandoned her in every way, when she needed me most.”  
Bran looked at him impassively. “What will you do?”  
“I don’t know. I want to earn back her trust. I want to know what was going on in her head that day, and I don’t know how to ask her without sounding as if I’m accusing her. I want to show her that I love her. That I won’t do that to her. Abandon her like that.”  
They sat in silence then, and after a time, Bran said, “if you come up with something, let me know.”  
“Come up with something?”  
“Some way to make a woman trust you after you’ve taken a great deal from her and then let her go as if she meant nothing.”  
Jon shuddered. “That wasn’t what I meant to do.”  
“Likewise. But it’s what we both did.”

The Northmen arrived a few days later and Sansa insisted they must have a feast. There would be little enough food, little enough cause to feast in the coming years.   
Jon was relieved that the Northern armies were far more appalled at Robett Glover attempting to murder the Lady of Winterfell, the sister of their king, than desiring revenge for his death.   
Of course, there was some grumbling about a vast keep such as Deepwood Motte being given away to a man who was not of the North. Jon knew this grumbling would become dissatisfaction and possibly dissent, and was anxious to figure out ways to placate them before this happened.  
But for now, they were happy to be home.  
Happier still to know they had no cause to expect another war any time soon, that they might simply rest now.   
They feasted and drank and cheered. Jon was the subject of toasts, as was Dany. They toasted her health and Sansa glanced at him, whispering, “I wish she could hear them.”  
Jon smiled. He did too.   
Ser Jorah left Winterfell the next morning with the Dothraki.   
Jon noted that Sansa was calmer now, happier, that the North was now only occupied by Northerners, loyal to her House.  
Jon knew he would have to talk to her, to explain to her that she must not simply give land away, without consulting him.   
How could she not realize all that could go wrong with such a decision?  
He wanted to keep the uneasy peace that had descended with the snow over Winterfell.  
Then Daenerys’ letter arrived. As she had told him she would, she invited them to come to her, to declare fealty or independence, to discuss terms and trade.   
And here the peace shattered. Jon understood the desire for independence, but he also understood what Dany had said during the writing of her will; that the continent was torn by war, and winter had already begun to grip the North and was settling in on all of Westeros. This was a time for unity.   
He knew this would be a fight with Sansa, one he had no interest in having publicly, so he sat with her, Arya and Bran, asking Ser Davos, Lord Tyrion, Sam, and Ser Brienne to join them.   
“The North can be independent,” Jon said. “In time. But right now, our glass gardens are gone. The stores are tight. Hunting is not going to be as productive as it’s been in the past, and it will be too cold to do any of the things that would be needed to secure trade. Our best action now would be to pledge fealty to Daenerys and-“  
“I knew it!” Sansa stormed at him. “You’re in love with her, and now you want to give her the North.”  
Jon sighed. “I am in love with her,” he confessed. “But that’s not why I’m suggesting unity right now, Sansa.”  
“She promised she would respect our independence!”  
“And she has. Her letter is quite clear. But we are in no position to trade right now. In time, we will be, but right now-“  
“If we can’t survive independently through winter, we won’t survive. What are we to do? Be united in the winter, then ask to be independent in the summer?”  
“Not exactly. We can unify in the winter, then help the other kingdoms in the summer. By the time next winter comes, we’ll be better prepared and we can request independence then.”  
“That could take years!”  
“Aye, it could take years! Years of a winter with babes being born and dying, with not enough food to give them! Do you not remember the stories of how it was in winters past?”  
“I remember father saying that the lone wolf dies and the pack survives,” Sansa shot back.   
“Aye, and that summer is the time for squabbles. In winter we must protect each other, keep each other warm, share our strengths.”  
“Our strengths! Not hers!”  
“If it weren’t for her strength, we would not have survived the Long Night!”  
They both fell silent, and looked at the faces around them.  
Bran watched them in impassive silence.   
Lord Tyrion quietly said, “you all know my thoughts.”  
“If it’s my opinion you’d like, I want what’s best for the people here,” Ser Brienne volunteered. “I think you both make valid points. The North desires and cherishes its independence. But they also want to survive.” She turned to Jon, and went on, “you are their king. They respect you. And after what you’ve done in the battle for the dawn, and what we heard you’ve done in Kings Landing, they’ll follow your lead. Particularly as the women here saw that Daenerys was barely able to walk, yet flew her dragons to you to rescue you. The men there watched the two of you riding dragons into the disaster to save them. They respect her and if you tell them you want to bend the knee to her, I don’t think they will oppose it, especially as a temporary measure.”  
“Do you suppose she would aid the North, even if you confirm independence?” Ser Davos asked.  
“If she can, she will,” Lord Tyrion said. “It’s just her way, she won’t let you starve if she can help. But the question is, can she? The lords who will be paying taxes may not be enthusiastic find she’s using their resources to help a kingdom who insisted on independence.”  
“And we would be beggars,” Jon said, looking coldly at Sansa. At her immediate anger, he added, “unless you know a better word for a region that demands its independence then asks for help?”  
“We aren’t asking for help,” she snapped.  
“Why don’t we present it to the lords and ask them to cast a vote?” Sam asked. “Both of you can explain what you think, and let the people decide what they want to do?”  
Jon nodded, glancing at Sansa, who reluctantly agreed as well. 

*********************************

The streets of Kings Landing were empty, and the Red Keep as well. Daenerys did not go to the throne room first, as she’d thought she would. She wanted to look around the city first. She wanted to survey the destruction and also check which structures stood. People would be coming to rebuild, and she wanted to ensure their safety. To be certain that the buildings in which the workers would live, were sound and would not collapse around them. She went over budgets with Lady Olenna, and there was certainly enough work to keep her busy.   
After two days of this, while sitting in the council room with Lady Olenna, Lord Tarly and Ellaria Sand, Lady Olenna asked her directly why she hadn’t sat on the throne yet.  
“All this time and work to win it, I’d have thought it would be the first thing you’d want to do.”  
Dany laughed. She had thought so too.   
“I want to wait for Missandei, Ser Jorah, Grey Worm. Your grandson. I could not have won it without them,” she explained.  
They’d gone over resources as well, and they agreed this could only be preliminary figured until they spoke with the lords and ladies of the kingdoms.  
Reluctantly, she had begun writing and sending the letters.   
The letters had announced that she had taken the throne, and invited the lords and ladies to come to Kings Landing to either swear fealty or declare independence. She assured them that if they needed resources to travel, she would provide them, but that she wanted to have an idea of where everyone stood and what they would need for the winter.   
And then all she could do was wait.

The day her Unsullied arrived in Kings Landing with Grey Worm and Missandei was one of her happiest. She embraced both of them, and Lady Yara who had brought them to her.   
She saw Lord Willas and embraced him as well.   
She realized she would need a larger table for her council. She wanted two Hands. Two Masters of Coin, of War, of Whispers, of Laws. One was not enough. They should be able to run ideas by each other, and offer different perspectives. She’d made a mistake by leaning too heavily on the advice of one man, and she had no intention of making that mistake again.   
Ellaria Sand welcomed another daughter of Oberyn, a young woman named Sarella Sand. The woman was brilliant, Dany realized almost immediately after speaking with her.   
She’d posed as a boy to study at the Citadel, and when Dany told her of her idea to have a library in Kings Landing, Sarella had become very excited.   
Dany spent the entire evening with Sarella and Willas, planning. She felt the joy she had sought for so long, and slept better than she had in moons, even with the occasional stab of pain that had become her reality.  
She fervently hoped she would live at least long enough to see the library being built. But the confidence that the people around her would continue the work they’d planned was a comfort.   
Finally, she entered the throne room. She’d been afraid, so afraid, to go to that place where she’d died in her vision.   
She walked slowly toward the throne, and it was the same imposing, monstrous thing from her two visions; the first, in which she never even touched it, the second, she had, and then died almost immediately afterward.   
Today however, the walls were intact, the light streaming in from the richly colored glass of the windows soft and bright.  
Ser Jorah was beside her, Missandei and Grey Worm as well. The Tyrells and her Dornish allies, Randyll Tarly and his son, Lady Yara and the Ironborn.  
She was not alone. She had not wrought destruction, had not killed innocents.   
She stood before the throne as if greeting an old friend.  
Then she sat down, as she never had in any dream.   
For a moment she felt almost empty, like the streets outside.   
The people who had followed her fell to one knee before her, and as she took in the expressions on their faces, she realized suddenly that this moment was not hers alone. These were her allies and friends, they had stood by her and fought for her right to sit on this throne.   
She smiled then, and they smiled back, in such solemn joy her own heart began to feel lighter, even as it hurt. 

**************************

The snows had become too heavy to continue in the cart, and Qyburn was concerned. Meera’s friend had only just begun to recover, and little Joanna was far too young and tender to be out in such a storm.  
“We’re close,” Meera assured him. She pointed to something ahead, but Qyburn couldn’t make much out behind swathes of snow. He narrowed his eyes, and could just make out the faintest hint of lights ahead.  
“Is that it?”  
“Yes. That’s Winterfell.” She began to wrap her friend’s pallet in blankets. “I’ll drag him, get your medicine bottles. Can you hold the babe and your medicines?”  
“I can try,” Qyburn assured her.   
They began to move slowly in the blinding snow toward those far off lights.


	21. Chapter Twenty One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all as always for your amazing comments and kudos, you are all so awesome and inspiring!  
And thank you SO MUCH Queen_Lyanna for starting to beta this, I will be editing those chapters soon, without my typos and grammatical issues thanks to you!  
You all ROCK!  
In this chapter, some heated discussions in the North, Dany deals with some of the first issues coming up in her new reign, and some personal issues as well! I hope you all enjoy it, and thank you so so much for reading and sharing your thoughts!

Chapter Twenty One

The great hall had been full because of the storm; in winters past, on the coldest days and nights, the people of the Winter town would gather in Winterfell to stay warm, as the water from the hot springs would keep the castle warm as summer. The lords and armies had stayed on as well, since the storm had begun while they were feasting.

Jon was glad of it, as now they would not have to call anyone to the castle for the vote.   
He’d noted that Dany liked to include smallfolk in major decisions, and it was them after all who would suffer most if the wrong decision was made tonight. He was grateful to Sam for the suggestion.

“People of the North,” he began, and the room grew quiet. “We have received word from Queen Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. She has requested that the lords and ladies of Westeros appear before her to either swear fealty or confirm our independence. She will uphold our independence as promised.” He waited as the cheers erupted then grew quiet. “If we are unable to appear before her, she will send resources to bring us there, or accept our statement in writing. I stand before you today because this is a decision that will have an effect on our people for years to come.”

Sansa stood at this point, and Jon sat down to let her speak. “We were independent for thousands of years before Aegon Targaryen arrived on our shores. Winter will be hard. We know this. But we are of the North. We are survivors. If we surrender our independence now, we may never have it back.”

This was met with some cheers, but Jon could see the response was not as enthusiastic as it had been moons ago, which was a relief.   
He stood again, as Sansa sat back down.

“Our food stores are tight. Winter is upon us and there’s a strong chance the rations will not last. But even if they do, what of tools? Of horses? Of medicine? We have nothing to trade at this time, and with the glass gardens gone, we have no way to grow food. Hunting is scarce in the winter. We know when winter ends this will change. If we swear fealty to the queen, she will provide us with aid and when the winter is over, we can rebuild what we’ve lost. We can always request our independence then. I understand we’ve all suffered at the hands of southern rulers. But you’ve met her, you’ve seen her. You know her. We will not suffer under her rule.”

This was met with cheers as well, and Jon sat down. He and Sansa exchanged uneasy glances.

Lord Manderly stood. “If I am understanding you, Your Grace, you and Lady Sansa are deciding whether to swear fealty and surrender our independence, or affirm our independence.”  
“It’s not only for us to decide,” Jon said. “It’s all of you. Samwell Tarly suggested we cast votes. All of you will be affected, so all of you should have a voice. If we swear fealty, we will no longer be an independent kingdom. We all know the Warden of the North is king in all things but name, but we also know that over time we would be affected by southern politics, wars and laws. When the realm recovers, there will be taxes. At the same time, we are facing a long winter. It will not be as harsh as it would have been, had the Night King won, but nor will it be easy. We need supplies. We need to rebuild. We may expect raids from bandits in the wake of all the wars the Seven Kingdoms have waged. If we do not swear fealty, we have no right to ask for help when the queen will be trying to feed six other kingdoms.”

Lady Lyanna stood then. “I would like to see the stores,” she said.  
“You don’t trust me?” Sansa demanded.  
“It’s not about trust, Lady Sansa. If I am to have a vote in this, I need all the information to decide. We are independent. We have chosen our king. But it’s not I who would have to swear fealty to Queen Daenerys, it’s our king. My cousin has told me much about the queen, and I know what I saw. House Mormont is a proud house. But we are not fools. I need to ensure that independence will not be a slow execution of our people.”  
“She should send us aid regardless,” Sansa said, and Jon could see she was getting angry. “The North fought the dead. If not for us, Westeros would be nothing but marching corpses right now.”  
“That may be, but Queen Daenerys aided us in that war, and brought Southern lords to help as well,” Jon said with forced calm.   
“You don’t have to decide this tonight,” Lord Tyrion offered. “Lady Lyanna is right, you should have all the information before making your choice.”

Jon smiled at him gratefully, and even Sansa looked relieved. This would give both of them an opportunity to demonstrate why they each felt the way they did.   
The men began to discuss it among themselves and to Jon’s chagrin it became a heated debate, then flared into an argument.  
“We can’t turn against each other,” he began, unsure if he could be heard above the angry din. 

He glanced at Bran and Arya, but Arya had apparently decided to voice no opinion on the matter, and Jon was frustrated. He wanted to know her thoughts, whether she agreed with him or not. Bran was watching the arched doorway of the hall expectantly.   
Jon sighed. He turned back to the arguing men, and in truth the women had joined the argument as well.  
“We can’t turn against each other,” he repeated, this time more loudly and firmly, and this brought about a moment of quiet, which did not last long.

An old man and young woman, both caked in snow, entered the hall, flanked by Northern guards. The old man held a small, heavily wrapped bundle and the girl was dragging a pallet behind her, also heavily wrapped.   
“My name is Meera Reed,” the girl said.   
“Welcome back, Meera,” Bran offered. He turned to Jon and Sansa. “I owe her my life,” he told them.   
Meera blinked in surprise. “Thank you, Bran.”   
Ser Jaime had stood, as if in a trance, and was walking toward the old man.   
“Qyburn,” he managed, and a gasp arose from the women, who remembered the name.   
Jon remembered it too, and frowned.   
Qyburn turned to Ser Jaime and handed him the bundle reluctantly. “This is Joanna,” he said. “She likes it if you sing to her. And rock her. She loves when you walk with her too...”  
Jaime took the child and stared into her face. He had begun to tremble, and Ser Brienne and Tyrion rushed to him, helping him to a chair and looking at the babe in his arms, helping him to unwind the blankets that swaddled her.  
Qyburn was looking painfully at the child, as if it hurt him to surrender her, then turned to Jon.   
“You’re Qyburn,” Jon said.  
“Yes,” he acknowledged. “I was Hand of the Queen to Cersei Lannister.”  
“You set off wildfire in Kings Landing,” Jon stated.  
Meera, who had bent down beside the unconscious man in the palett she’d been dragging, looked up sharply.  
“He couldn’t have,” she said. “He saved my friend’s life.”  
Maester Wolkan had approached the unconscious man, and glanced up, frowning. “I fear this man is past saving.”  
“He’s much better than he was,” Meera insisted.  
“He is not past saving,” Qyburn said decisively. “His injuries may be past your learning. The Citadel will allow men to die rather than use my research.” Qyburn’s voice was soft but bitter.

“I should add,” Ser Jaime said, “Qyburn saved my life as well. When I returned to Kings Landing I had a terrible infection from this,” he held up his golden hand. “I would have died, and his work was far superior to Maester Pycelle’s.”

“But you did detonate the wildfire that burned Kings Landing,” Lady Lyanna said to him.  
“I did,” he said. “I served my queen and was loyal to her. Her babe came far too early, and I was grateful to have been there or both of them would have surely died. She was murdered by the assassin she sent to kill your queen-“  
“We don’t have a queen, we have a king. We are independent,” Sansa said coldly.  
“You said, the assassin Cersei sent to kill Queen Daenerys...killed her?” Jon was utterly confused now, as he remembered killing the man with his own hands. And hadn’t Bran said Arya had killed Cersei?

“Yes, Your Grace,” Qyburn said. “Her guards saw the man enter her chambers with news, and when I appeared before her to speak with her, she...” Qyburn broke off as if the image hurt him.  
“And so you set off wildfire to kill everyone in the city,” Sansa said coldly.  
“There were no civilians left in the city. Was that really any different from what Lord Tyrion did in the Blackwater? Or what your own queen did on the Goldsroad?”  
“She’s not our-“  
“Sansa, enough. Please.” Jon was getting impatient with her now. He sighed.   
“It was war. And she was my queen,” Qyburn said.  
“If you execute him, this man will die,” Meera said urgently. “He’s a Northerner, he’s my friend. And he’ll die.”  
Sansa smiled then, suddenly. “This decision is not ours to make,” she said. “His crime was committed in Kings Landing. That’s for Queen Daenerys to decide, isn’t it?”  
Jon bit back an angry reply. What a convenient time Sansa chose to acknowledge Daenerys’s authority, he thought.  
But she was right. This was Daenerys’s decision. 

“Lady Sansa is right,” Jon said wearily. “You’ll be brought before Queen Daenerys when we go to her.”  
“I expected to be brought to justice, but I hope you will at least allow me to plead my case. I only wanted to bring Joanna to safety. Please also allow me to continue treating this man.” He indicated Meera’s unconscious friend, who was being carried from the room. “If your Maester is willing, I can show him how to address such injuries going forward.”  
“I am a Maester,” Maester Wolkan snapped, drawing himself up. “I don’t need any learning from you, Ser.”  
“It seems perhaps you do, as you said the man was past saving. I wonder how many men have died, who could have been saved?” Qyburn responded, and Jon noticed that his voice did not raise or snap, but remained eerily soft.  
“Maester Wolkan, do you know of a way to save the man?” Jon finally asked.  
“The infection is too deep, Your Grace,” Maester Wolkan said angrily. “All this man is doing is prolonging his pain. I’ve seen men die from less.”  
“I’ve given him milk of the poppy, he will have no pain. And I’ve saved the lives of men suffering far worse,” Qyburn said.  
Jon nodded. “Continue your work, then. Maester Wolkan, it won’t do any harm to watch what he does.” He stood. “All of you, think about what we’ve discussed. This decision will affect us for years to come.”  
He turned and left the room, asking guards to keep their eyes on Qyburn.  
They could not leave for Kings Landing now, even if they wanted to, with such a storm blowing over them. And his people needed time to contemplate. Qyburn needed to save Meera’s friend. 

He thought about what Sansa had said earlier. That he was in love with Daenerys and wanted to give her the North.  
He was a little angry that she thought he would hand Dany a kingdom just because he loved her.

He was also angry at Sansa, unfair though it was, that she had betrayed him in that other life. That was why Dany had been so certain that Sansa would endanger both Dany’s life and his own, just to have her out of the way. So that Sansa could be Queen of the North.  
And that was what had happened, wasn’t it? Bran had told him that Jon’s parentage, so important while Dany was alive and desperately wanted the throne, had become meaningless after she was gone, and Jon was exiled back to the Nights Watch. 

Dany’s reaction to his parentage had been to immediately point out his claim to the throne, and he’d been angry at her for it.  
But it had been Sansa’s first reaction as well, and she’d used it as a weapon against Dany. That was all the meaning it had had to everyone. Just to make Jon a pawn, something to use against Dany.

When Bran had told him all of Dany’s vision, he’d had flashes of memory, and since that night Jon had been haunted by dreams of it. Not the smooth linear story Dany must have seen, the life she had lived, but scattered, confused pieces.

Being surrounded on all sides by the dead, and suddenly a rain of fire, and Daenerys, on Drogon, landing beside him and reaching down toward him, smiling. Beautiful, so beautiful.  
Her dragon speared by the Night King. 

Or a burned city, charred corpses everywhere, and her, so cold, so utterly without remorse. His compassionate queen dead, or locked somewhere behind the eyes of this exquisite killer.   
Gods, how could he have lost her so completely?  
And she had woken from this horror and chose to help him anyway. She’d made changes, and he thought about those changes now, a map of her regrets.   
She had not burned the Tarlys. Had she some way to know that Randyll Tarly would become so ardent a supporter of her? Or that Sam had demanded in his grief and rage at Jon, “you gave up your crown to save your people. Would she do the same?”  
Jon’s refusal to defend her in that moment sickened him now. He’d known already that she’d delayed leaving Meereen to sail for Westeros, to keep the freed slaves free.  
He’d known that she’d promised her help before he bent the knee to her.  
She’d lost a dragon trying to save him.  
Yes, she put her people before her crown, he raged at a phantom of Sam in another life. I didn’t give up my crown to save my people, she’d already agreed to help us, he wanted to climb into that life to say the words he hadn’t said then.  
At the time, Jon had said nothing.  
Even though he knew very well that the penalty for oath breaking was execution, and the Tarlys had broken their oath.

Ned Stark himself would have executed men for attacking their liege Lord.

She had saved her allies in this life. And even though she’d known that she could take the capitol in a quarter of an hour with ease, she’d committed to the siege and smuggled food to the people.   
The Northerners had treated her like an enemy, but she’d advised against their children hiding in the crypts. 

She’d refused to join him on the ship, and this haunted him.  
They’d become lovers on that ship. Had spent a glorious moon wrapped up in each other, a time he could only barely remember.  
Yet she’d still coupled with him. Why had she chosen to fly to Winterfell?  
This was the most pressing thing to him, although close to it, was her frame of mind when she’d burned the city. When she’d declared to her armies that they would conquer...the world, he thought with a shudder.  
And she could, he thought. If she decided one day that she wanted to conquer the world, who could stop her, if her own mercy didn’t?  
She won’t, he thought. If it was what she wanted, she’d have come out of that dream and done it. 

He would see her again. They would go before her in Kings Landing, he would see her on that throne and talk to her about her ideas for libraries and people’s councils. He wondered what new ideas she would have.   
A good world, she’d told him.   
He had no doubt in his mind she would build that good world. And once, in another life, she’d wanted him to build it with her. 

He wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t given up on her immediately, as he had. Would his kind and compassionate queen have ever returned to him, or would she have forever been only this avenging conqueror?   
He shuddered. It didn’t matter. He’d done what he’d done, and trying to explain to her that he was afraid that too many lives would be lost waiting, would only hurt her.   
She was a warrior queen and also a queen of unlimited kindness. And he’d lost her. She’d given him a second chance; she’d made love to him here at Winterfell, and he’d abandoned her just the same.

He thought again of the day she’d come to him in the crypts. Her reaction to his parentage had been so different from that other life. She hadn’t even brought up his claim until after the battle. She’d opened herself up to him as family, treated him only with love. Had she regretted her actions that night?  
But of course she did, Jon thought, angry at his own foolishness. Every choice she made, had been weighed against the choices from that other life.  
And her deciding not to join him on the ship had been a conscious choice. Why?   
If she’d never been with him at all, he could reason it out. He had hurt her, abandoned her, betrayed her, murdered her. Why should she ever let him touch her again?  
But she had. And the night of the celebration, she’d come to his room, and when he’d begun to kiss her, she’d kissed him back. His cock hardened thinking about it, her soft pliant sweetness.   
He shook his head to clear it. He could have had her that night, he knew. He could have bedded her and gone right back into their love. He remembered her fiercely going over other marriages between relatives in Westeros, in his family.   
She’d wanted him, wanted their love.  
Yet she’d avoided joining him on the ship, where they’d have had nothing but time.   
Was it too painful for her? Knowing how things would end? 

It was best not to ask. He’d caused her enough pain. He hated himself, because he wanted to ask her. He wanted to know why she had changed something that had brought them both such joy. Even in the ghostly thread of his memory, he knew that, since he’d died at the hands of his brothers, that voyage with her had been the first time he had felt alive.

*********************************

All her ideas were too expensive, Daenerys thought, frustrated, her small fist pounding on the book in front of her. She wondered if there might be a less expensive way to go about what she wanted, but she had strong doubts. Even if it were possible to do it cheaply, it would be unwise. This was a project that, if done at all, must be done correctly.   
She wanted to be angry at the kings and queens who’d fought wars for years and destroyed the realm, leaving too many ruins, too many hungry people, but how could she? She’d come here to bring yet more war.   
Lord Willas entered the library, smiling warmly, and she smiled back. 

“Lord Willas. How are you today?”  
“I’m well, Your Grace,” he said, coming to sit beside her. “Some of the lords and ladies have arrived, but grandmother told them they’d best wash and rest before seeing you.”  
She laughed. “While I certainly don’t want to turn people away for how they look, it’s best for them to rest, and maybe eat something, before we speak. Your grandmother is truly a treasure.”  
He nodded. “Indeed she is. How are you feeling?”  
“Frustrated, but other than that, I’m well.”  
He studied her as if confirming that she was indeed well, and she appreciated his concern. She knew as well as anyone that the damage inflicted by the poisoning could kill her at any time, but it wouldn’t be sudden, and she’d made her will. 

She certainly did not want to die.   
She had plans now, more plans even than before. She’d just gone over a plan with Lord Willas and Lady Olenna the day before, for new orphanages, that would provide more for the children there. She’d been horrified to find out what became of these children in years past, and she was determined to make changes. Food had to be provided, of course, and clothing and shelter. But what about having them learn to read? And why not have fishermen, knights, butchers, kitchen workers, seamstresses, minstrels, people of all different skills, come in once or twice every moon, and teach them trades, so they would not be left to the mercy of the world when they grew to adulthood? One of the bigger concerns the children on Dragonstone had told her about, was their fear of what would become of them once they had to leave the orphanage. This could help them build a life they wanted.   
Her allies, her friends, truly, had been enthusiastic about this plan, though the ever present constrictions of cost were a factor. Lady Olenna had been more than generous, but Dany was increasingly concerned that Lady Olenna would leave herself without enough to rebuild Highgarden if she kept funding these projects. 

Lord Willas and Lady Sarella had barely been able to contain their excitement over her idea to build a library.

She wanted to live, perhaps now more than ever, to see her plans become reality.   
But the comfort that these beloved friends she’d made, would continue her work, was ever present, and when sadness would pull her down, she would remind herself of that.

“What has you frustrated, Your Grace?” Lord Willas asked.  
She sighed. “This.” She indicated the book in front of her. It was a book full of descriptions of wondrous places all over, and one of these was Sweetwater River in Braavos. “I want one,” she said, laughing. “I have to remind myself that the realm will recover and then we’ll be able to do this.”  
Lord Willas leaned over the book, studying it. “This should be done immediately,” he said.   
She laughed again. “It’s a monstrously huge project and much too expensive to begin right away.”  
“My grandmother could-“  
“You and your grandmother have been far too generous already.”  
“My grandmother and I will be staying here for some time. I think an aqueduct like this would be of tremendous benefit to us. We could have water piped directly into the Keep.”  
Daenerys nodded. “I just don’t want to keep taking advantage of your kindness.”  
“I’ll speak to her. We would need builders to come and assess it for us, but this seems like something we could do.”  
She sighed, wishing again that she had better ideas for ways to make coin.   
Beggar King, they’d called her brother. And she remembered Razdal mo Eraz had called her Beggar Queen.   
Wasn’t that what she was? 

“What’s wrong, Your Grace?” Willas was looking at her anxiously. “Are you in pain?”  
“No, no more than usual. Just trying to figure out how...how to manage all that has to be done.”  
“We are all here for you, Your Grace.”  
She smiled at him warmly. He had indeed been there for her since they’d met, offering her advice and information. Without him, without the books on strategy he’d recommended, she would have lost so much more than she had in the battle of Winterfell.  
“Thank you. Truly, you have been of more value than I could ever express.”  
He flushed, smiling back. “I’m honored, Your Grace, and am always at your service.” He was looking again at her face, and frowned. “You look pale. Are you sure you’re all right?”  
She nodded, but pain had set in, and she felt tired.   
“It might be a good idea to lay down before I meet with the visitors.”  
He stood, offering his arm. She took it gratefully, and he walked her to her room, where she fell asleep almost immediately.

When she awoke, Daenerys was glad she’d taken a rest. She felt refreshed and the pain had receded. She dressed, and Missandei came in to braid her hair.   
“I like it here much better than the North,” she said, smiling.   
“I do too,” Dany agreed. The city smelled terrible, like ash and excrement, and half of it lay in ruins. But it was warmer than the North and still sunny. 

“Daenerys, I wanted to ask you...once everything becomes settled, would it be all right if Grey Worm and I went to Naath?”  
“Of course! You can take whichever ship you like, and I can give you some of the gifts I received in Essos so you’ll have resources. How long do you wish to stay?”  
“We...” she hesitated. “We were thinking to live there. To protect the people there. They’re a peaceful people, and they suffer raids.”  
Dany felt a sudden stab of sadness, but she pushed it back. She wanted Missandei to be happy, and if this would make her happy...  
She nodded, waiting until she could trust her voice.   
“Please send me a message if you ever need help to defend them. I don’t want you to be harmed.”  
“You...you’ll let us go?”  
Dany turned to her. “You know I will! I told you that when we first met. I’ll miss you, terribly. But I want nothing in the world more than your happiness, Missandei.”  
She hugged her tightly.  
Missandei hugged her back, and she would not allow herself to cry.   
“We aren’t leaving right away. We want to make sure you’re safe. We love you. If we left and someone harmed you, neither of us could forgive ourselves.”  
“I won’t say I don’t need you both, but you have done more than you promised. Whenever you’re ready to go, please tell me.”  
“Next year, we’re thinking. It will be enough time to be sure you have protection, and also...” Missandei broke off. Her eyes darkened. “I know you have this...this illness...”  
“Please don’t put off your plans for that, Missandei. I’ll admit I want you here. You’re my best friend and my sister. I love you. But I want even more, for you to be happy. Grey Worm too, is one of my dearest friends. You both mean so much to me, and have stood by me. Your happiness means everything to me.”  
“If something happens to you while we’re gone-“  
“Then it was going to happen anyway. And I’ll have peace knowing you are living the life you want.”  
They embraced again, and Missandei finished Daenerys’ braids. They walked down to the main hall where the first lords and ladies to arrive were waiting.   
Missandei sat down beside her. 

Dany saw that Lord Willas and Lady Olenna were already seated, as were Ellaria Sand and the Sand Snakes, and Sarella Sand. Randyll and Dickon Tarly were seated at the other side and Yara Greyjoy sat with a few of her Ironborn. Grey Worm stood behind Daenerys, as did Qhono.   
The lords and ladies who had arrived to either declare fealty or independence were seated across from her, and most of them looked nervous.   
Missandei announced Daenerys and her titles as she always had.  
Dany looked at the visitors and took a deep breath.   
“I deeply appreciate your coming here. I know there is much to be done, but we should begin with the understanding of whether you would prefer to swear fealty to me, or to declare your independence.”  
The lords and ladies exchanged uneasy glances.  
One man stood, glancing around. “I am Lord Crakehall,” he began. He was a large man, big boned, and Dany thought he must be fierce when not suffering under famine. “I am not the Lord Paramount or Warden of my region. I do not believe I have any right to decide this.”  
“House Crakehall...you’re from the Westerlands, is that correct?” Daenerys asked him.   
“Yes, Your Grace. Have you chosen a Warden of the West?”  
“Tywin Lannister left two male heirs who both live, Ser Jaime and Lord Tyrion. They will decide between them who will take Casterly Rock and, unless they choose independence, I will name the one they choose as Warden of the West.”  
Lord Crakehall seemed surprised at that. “You will not take their lands?”  
Dany frowned. “Why would I take their lands?”  
“The Lannisters were enemies of your family, were they not?”  
“Lord Tyrion is my Hand. And both of them fought bravely and honorably in the North. Moreover, the war is over. I have no intention of taking anyone’s ancestral land from them.”  
Lord Crakehall studied her, assessing. “And where are they now?”  
“They are still at Winterfell. I understand there’s a storm at this time, so their journey here will be delayed. While we await their arrival, I would appreciate very much any information you can give me about your current stores. If the Lord Paramount does not choose independence, it will be my responsibility to see that you all have sufficient resources through the winter, and I’d like to begin planning.”  
“I have brought this information with me, Your Grace. We can speak about it at your leisure,” Lord Crakehall said, and he sat back down.   
Another man stood then. “I am Lord Penrose, Your Grace. Much like Lord Crakehall, I am not able to make the decision to declare independence, though I can swear fealty. I am the Castellan of Storms End, and the Baratheon line is gone.”  
“The Baratheon line will be restored. Robert Baratheon has a son named Gendry, and I have given him Storms End. He too is at Winterfell, and will likely be here as soon as he is able.”  
The man looked startled and a little suspicious. “You intend to restore the family that destroyed your own?”   
“Lord Gendry Baratheon has performed a priceless service in creating weapons for the conflict against the dead. He fought bravely-“  
“The dead?”  
“Yes.” She frowned. Hadn’t Jon and the Nights Watch told the other kingdoms about this? “The Wall was breached by the Night King. The White Walkers, and the army of the dead, stormed Winterfell.”  
The man was staring at her now as if she had gone mad and she really didn’t care this time.   
“The White Walkers are a story,” he told her, his voice slightly condescending.  
“I assure you, my lord, they were not.”  
“I saw them with my own eyes,” Randyll Tarly interjected. “Are you prepared to call me and our queen liars?”  
Lord Penrose hesitated. “No, my lord. I apologize.”  
He sat back down.   
Crakehill stood again and turned to her. “I also wanted to ask...I’ve heard about you burning the capitol with your dragons, and I can see that-“  
“Me? You think I burned the city?” Dany’s voice sounded small, and her heart was pounding. She shivered involuntarily. Did I? She thought wildly, as images from her vision assaulted her. No, she reminded herself, I couldn’t have-  
“How dare you!” Randyll Tarly thundered. She looked at him, and he was standing, glaring at Crakehill, his face contorted with rage. “The city was burned by wildfire, and the queen tried to warn us. Her ravens were intercepted and she flew here on her dragons to rescue us. She’d been poisoned, and was feverish, and she came here anyway. Then she and the King in the North flew in and out of the city on her dragons, to save everyone. She was injured. She risked her life, while you probably hid in your keep like a coward.”  
“My Lord, I was not aware-“  
“If you aren’t aware then you should keep your ignorant mouth shut instead of spreading vicious lies about-“  
“I meant no offense-“  
“Then you will apologize to Her Grace immediately,” Lord Tarly stated.  
“I apologize, Your Grace,” Crakehill said, turning back to Dany. He sat back down.  
Dany took another deep breath to steady her voice.  
“I accept your apology. I did not burn the city. It’s as Lord Tarly said, the caches of wildfire under the city were detonated. We will be rebuilding the city as soon as we are able.”  
She swallowed against the lump in her throat, formed by horror that people would think she’d burned the city, and gratitude to Lord Tarly for his defense of her.

Lady Olenna poured some water from a pitcher into a goblet and handed it to Dany. “Thank you,” Dany murmured gratefully. “Even if none of you is in a position to decide whether your region is going to be independent, I’d still like to hear your thoughts. If you would prefer to speak to your liege Lord first, then we can begin discussing stores and the needs your people have at this time.”  
The conversation turned then to food, supplies, and similar concerns, and plans for how to address them.  
She was tired again by the end of it, and angry that her body kept betraying her this way.   
She returned to her room and her thoughts turned to Jon. His face, his voice.   
Her heart was going to betray her just like her body, she mused bitterly.   
She missed Jon so much it was almost a physical ache.

He made his decision, she told herself angrily. Once he found out about their relation, he’d pulled away from her, in that other life and this one. He saw their love as wrong, as evil, as an abomination. What then must he think of her, born of generations of incestuous inbreeding? He thinks I’m an abomination too, she thought, her heart breaking again. It explained why he’d been so ready to leave her. Why he hadn’t had her in that other life until after he’d found out she couldn’t have children.   
She shuddered, remembering.   
Did it ever occur to you that she might not be the most reliable source of information? He’d asked her.  
And she could not let her mind dwell there. That was a subject she could not allow herself to remember too closely.  
Those days after the battle of Winterfell, her exhaustion and grief...and she’d just begun to notice the slight swelling of her belly. The tenderness in her breasts.   
Don’t think about that, she warned herself.  
Was it because he was a Targaryen too? That his seed should take hold when Daario’s hadn’t in all their time together?  
Don’t, don’t, don’t...  
She shook the thoughts from her head.   
It could have been anything, she reasoned. She hadn’t lived long enough to know.   
I did know, she thought, and once again had to lock the thought into a box in her heart and mind.   
She laid down again, her mind racing. She allowed the exhaustion to take her.

**********************************

Tyrion had to admit he felt happy.   
It had been some time since he could say that. But Jaime’s little girl, Tyrion’s niece, brought him such joy. Little Joanna was a happy babe, gurgling and cooing. Her face was so much like her mother’s, but sweet, new, unhurt by the things that had made Cersei who she was, who she became. 

Tyrion knew by Daenerys’ letter that she was still alive and had taken the throne. As deeply as he had wanted to be there the first time, he knew he would see her on the throne soon.  
More importantly, he would see HER soon, and the anticipation was almost overwhelming.  
He also knew she intended to allow Tyrion and Jaime to decide among themselves who would take Casterly Rock. Now that Jaime had a child and looked for all the world to be ready to propose to Ser Brienne, and after all, he was the elder of them, there was no question Jaime should have it.

Tyrion sat with Jaime now, watching him smile for the first time in awhile, as he cradled his little daughter.   
“Are you joining us on the trip to Kings Landing?” Tyrion asked.  
“I suppose I have to,” Jaime said, sighing. “I’d prefer not to. Too many memories there.”  
“You don’t have to.”  
“I think I do. I have to make sure your queen won’t hunt us down. We could go to Essos, but-“  
“She has no intention of hunting you down. When she was making up her will, she said that you and I would decide among ourselves who would take Casterly Rock. She said the other would get some other land. She will not harm you.”  
“And you believe her.”  
“I do. Since you’re the elder brother, Casterly Rock should be yours.”  
“You don’t think your queen will take it and give it to someone loyal to her.”  
“I’ve been loyal to her,” Tyrion argued. “And she’s your queen too, unless you plan on declaring independence for the Westerlands.”  
Jaime laughed at that.  
“I have no such intention. Is that common now? Kingdoms declaring independence?”  
“Well...Yara Greyjoy asked, back when we were in Meereen. The North certainly didn’t seem eager to unify. Daenerys wants to give people a choice.”  
“And if everyone decides to be independent, what would be her plan then?”  
“I’m not sure. She wants to set up councils made up of smallfolk. To make sure they aren’t being oppressed or harmed.”  
“That’s odd.”  
Tyrion laughed. “Maybe. She grew up in exile. She was often homeless. Her brother sold her into marriage. She doesn’t want the people to suffer as she did.”  
“If you’re correct, and she intends to reinstate me at Casterly Rock, do you really believe she would allow me to declare independence?”  
“I’m sure of it. Will you?”  
“No, of course not. The North is foolish if they do. Everyone is recovering from war, and we’re right in winter now.”  
“When Daenerys was dictating her will, she spoke of a temporary unity. While the realm recovers. She would allow independence after, I think.”  
“Are you trying to talk me into it?”  
“Of course not. I’m just letting you know the options. What will be your plans?”  
“If indeed you’re correct, and she lets me take Casterly Rock...I’ll go home. I’ll raise Joanna...when Cersei was a girl, she wanted to learn how to fight, like me. She wanted to learn about coin. She didn’t want to marry Robert. I’ll give Joanna everything that her mother was denied. She’ll never be forced to marry someone who can’t love her as she deserves. If she wants to learn fighting, so help me, she will.”  
“Especially with Ser Brienne’s influence,” Tyrion mentioned, trying to sound casual.  
Jaime smiled. “I was afraid, you know. Afraid how she would react to my having a child...”  
“And how did she react?”  
Jaime’s smile widened. “She’s been nothing but kind to her.”  
“And I assume we’ll be celebrating your own wedding soon?”  
“I don’t deserve her, Tyrion. She’s good. All the way down in her soul. She’s good and honorable, and I...”  
“She loves you.”  
Jaime sighed. “I’ll marry her. If she’ll have me. Once this is settled with your...with the queen.”  
Tyrion smiled. He liked to think about his brother happily married, raising his daughter, maybe other children as well, in their home.   
He felt optimistic despite the dreary landscape, despite his falling out with Daenerys.   
He wondered if in time she might even consider reinstating him as Hand. But if not, perhaps he could at least win back her friendship. She must know he never meant to harm her. 

He hadn’t made any progress with Sansa. She was set on independence, and there was no swaying her. She was unbending on the idea that giving Sandor Clegane Deepwood Motte without speaking to Jon may have been unwise. Tyrion had even acknowledged his own mistake in offering Bronn Harrenhal without telling Daenerys. Sansa was insistent, and when he’d pressed it, she’d suddenly yelled at him that Daenerys had given Storms End to Gendry, and how was that different?   
Tyrion’s second attempt to explain that a queen conferring a family’s land to its last living heir was not in any way the same as a king’s sister bestowing land to an unrelated man from another kingdom, without the king’s knowledge was not at all the same thing, had only met with rage.   
And Gods, she was beautiful when she was in a rage.   
Her crystal blue eyes shot pure ice at him, and his chest had constricted uncomfortably.   
“May I ask, why? Why did you give him the land? Was it because of Daenerys giving Storms End to Gendry?”  
“Why do people keep thinking that? Maybe I truly wanted to reward him. And as you and Jon love pointing out, we don’t have much to give just now.”

Tyrion frowned. The Hound he remembered would not much like a keep in the icy snowbound North, particularly since, unlike Winterfell, which stayed warm because of the water from hot springs piped through the walls, Deepwood Motte would need fires lit regularly. The Hound despised fire. But of course, the years had changed all of them.   
“Why did you want to reward him?”  
“Arya told me he kidnapped her.”  
“I can’t say this is making it any clearer.”  
“But he protected her. She...she was there with him the night my mother and brother...the night they died. And he kept her from running in. He helped her get Needle back.”  
“Needle?”  
“The sword Jon gave her. He was going to ransom her to my Aunt Lysa. But Aunt Lysa died, and he still wanted to protect Arya.” She took a deep breath. “And when I was in Kings Landing, he...you remember the riot.”  
“I do.”  
“They were all around me. They were going to rape me. And then probably murder me. He rescued me.”  
Tyrion nodded thoughtfully. “And you wanted to show your gratitude. I think a heartfelt thank you until you spoke with Jon would have done nicely.”  
“Daenerys didn’t speak to anyone before giving Gendry Storms End, which is a much more important keep. She named him Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Should she not have consulted with someone? Storms End has a castellan, she didn’t-“  
“It’s Gendry’s fathers keep, Lady Sansa. And she is the queen.” He’d added this last cautiously. He was beginning to suspect that she wanted to be the Queen of the North, not the Lady of Winterfell. She did not like having to answer to Jon.  
“Yes, she’s the queen. And if you and Jon have your way, you’ll give her the North, too.”  
“Could you just tell me...what exactly is so objectionable about that? I know you don’t like her-“  
“I like her well enough when we’re alone together.” At Tyrion’s frown, she went on. “She’s more like a real person. Easier to talk to. When she’s in front of people, she’s this imperious, self important, cold, forbidding person...” she broke off, noticing Tyrion’s expression.  
Is she? Tyrion thought, almost smiling.   
“Sometimes,” Tyrion began, “a woman in power is doubted in an unfair way, and she must present herself as strong and-“  
“I’m aware of that, Lord Tyrion.”  
“I imagine you are.”  
“I don’t want to have to answer to her. I’ve spent years being powerless, having to answer to other people. And they never meant well. Never. She may not be as awful as I thought she was. I admit that. But that doesn’t mean I should have to bow to her.”  
Tyrion sighed. Sansa was barely willing to concede to Jon. She would never bow to Daenerys. 

*******************************

The snow would be clear enough to travel in a few days, and Jon tried to quell his eagerness to see Dany again. He knew there was little chance she would love him as she had, but he was thrilled that he would see her. Talk to her, be around her. She’d told him in the crypts that night, “neither of us is alone.” And she had already lived that other life, when she’d said it. Surely this was a promise of sorts?   
Sansa had been speaking to the people, of the benefits of independence. Jon had liked Sam’s idea to let the people of the North decide. Smallfolk, Lords, Ladies, everyone. But Sansa was carefully going among the people to convince them to choose her way, and when he had told this to Sam, Sam had suggested he do the same. But this was a gift he didn’t have, to play this game of convincing people to agree with him.  
All of life almost ended, the entire realm could have been made into an army of corpses, and he’d been unable to convince anyone to help.   
Except the free folk, who’d already planned to fight the dead, and the North, whose homes lay on the front lines.   
And Dany.

All he could do was remind them of how little chance there was of survival without unity.   
And he knew well their pride would not allow them to acknowledge that.   
Bran and Arya would not voice an opinion.   
Bran said he didn’t have any opinion.   
Arya said her opinion shouldn’t be a factor, that she planned on leaving Westeros once she could be sure her family was safe.  
They sat in Jon’s room, where they’d spent hours as children, talking and laughing.  
“But it is a factor,” Jon said. “When you come home-“  
“I don’t intend to come home.”  
He stared at her. “You don’t..Arya, why?”  
She sighed. “Maybe I’ve just been traveling so much for so long...it’s hard to just stay in one place now.”

Jon leaned back in his chair. “Arya...”  
“Jon, I understand why you want to swear fealty. You don’t care about titles and you want the people to survive. And I understand why Sansa wants independence. To her, titles mean power and she’s been powerless for too long to surrender it, now that our family has it back. To me, it doesn’t matter either way. I’ve spoken to Daenerys a few times, and I think she’ll help as much as she can, whether you swear fealty or not, and the North will be free whether she’s queen or not. She’ll be able to help more as queen. And the North will have to call her queen if you swear fealty. If she were the kind of person we thought she was, when she first came here, it would be different. And if we had no stores at all, it would be different. But as it is, it won’t matter all that much either way.”

Jon sighed. “All the kingdoms have been affected by the wars, and by winter. How can she help us, if she’s helping everyone else? How can she avoid angering people who are paying taxes, and tributes, if she uses their resources to help an independent kingdom?”  
Arya shrugged. “She’s persuasive.”  
Jon laughed. “I don’t think persuasion alone will help.”

“It’s not me you have to convince, it’s Sansa and the people who are voting. I’m leaving soon, I don’t think I should have a vote. And I don’t want to take sides between the two of you. I don’t think she’s being fair to you, but I don’t think you’re being fair to her, either. You both want to protect the North. You just can’t agree on how to do it.”  
“We can’t protect them by starving them.”  
Arya sighed. “Have this talk with Sansa, Jon.”

Jon had tried to have the conversation with Sansa, but she and those who agreed with her, seemed to prefer starvation to a southern ruler. But he was relieved to see that most of the Northerners seemed much more amenable to Daenerys’ help than they had before.   
Jon had told Daenerys in that other life that they would come to see her for what she was.   
In that life, they hadn’t. It could still hurt him. And he could only imagine how it must have hurt her. But now, they certainly had, and he knew they admired her.

Jon also felt guilty about leaving the decision about Qyburn to her. Even though Sansa was correct that this was Dany’s decision, he’d been annoyed by Sansa pushing it off on her. Sansa certainly didn’t seem to mind overstepping these boundaries when it suited her.  
But this was a difficult decision, so she left it to Daenerys.  
Qyburn had pointed out that the city had been evacuated. What he’d done was an act of war, but they had in fact been at war.   
And he’d saved Ser Jaime’s life, and his daughter’s as well.   
He’d saved Meera’s friend, and Jon was frankly stunned at the man’s recovery. Maester Wolkan’s suspicions had disappeared after two days, along with any resentment at the idea of learning from him, and now Sam had begun to learn from him as well.   
It was hard to execute him.   
But something about bringing the man who had burned Kings Landing to Daenerys for judgment felt almost vicious. No doubt this would upset her.  
Yet the man’s fate was hers to decide.   
It was difficult to talk to anyone but Bran about this, since Bran knew about the vision.  
Jon expressed these concerns to Bran, who just looked at him impassively.  
“It is her decision, as Sansa said.”  
“Sansa only seems to care about that when it’s a difficult decision. But I’m worried about how this will affect Dany.”  
“It’s the best thing, Jon. You’ll see that.”  
Jon looked at his serene countenance.   
“I fail to see how. She burned the city in the vision, and-“  
“Oh, yes. No doubt this will upset her. But it’s for the best.”

Sam liked Qyburn, and he approached Jon nervously about him.   
“Jon, do you think she’ll execute him?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“He knows a lot more than the Maesters. He seems to understand the nature of things in a deeper way.”  
Jon frowned. “He also burned Kings Landing.”  
And so did Daenerys, Jon thought.   
“I know.” Sam looked dejected. “But he and I talked about Ser Jorah’s grayscale for hours. And the Spring Sickness.”  
“Spring Sickness?”  
“The Great Spring Sickness. It was a plague. It killed tens of thousands. In Kings Landing it was the worst, it killed four in ten people.”  
“Gods, Sam, that’s not a pleasant conversation.”  
“But it was fascinating.”  
Jon shuddered. Once he’d met Qyburn, he’d searched what memories he could pull from the terrible dream of Dany’s. Had he met the man? He remembered once, seeing him in Kings Landing. He’d picked up the still moving hand of the wight they’d brought.   
Jon thought the man didn’t look afraid. He’d looked intrigued.

When the time came to cast the vote for fealty or independence, another argument ensued. The lords and ladies felt that their vote should be given more weight than the smallfolk’s. Sam had argued that this was not fair, and Lord Manderly had pointed out that Sam was a southerner and his opinion didn’t matter.  
This led to a heated discussion about Sandor Clegane, who hadn’t come for the vote, and inevitably, this led to more grumbling about Deepwood Motte.   
Jon had a headache. He was tired of this argument.   
Lady Lyanna announced that she would join them on the trip to Kings Landing.  
And then Lord Manderly said he would go as well. Jon sighed as they debated, and it became apparent they had no intention of casting a vote until they spoke with Daenerys, and the smallfolk angrily declared that if the vote was to take place at Kings Landing, they should get to go, too.  
“Are we to bring everyone in the entire North?” Sansa demanded.  
“Why don’t we have the smallfolk vote now, and then the rest can vote later?” Jon asked, exasperated.   
Sansa frowned. She didn’t like that idea either.   
“What do you suggest, then?” He asked her.   
“We can vote when we return, then write to her.”  
Jon sighed. He was concerned that would be disrespectful, but figured that they could perhaps vote there at Kings Landing, then send ravens North with what they learned there, to get the smallfolk’s vote.  
Once this was settled, it was only a matter of getting ready to go.   
Arya volunteered to join them, and Bran wanted to go as well. He’d invited Meera, who had said she’d never been to Kings Landing.   
Finally, they set out, and Jon was left with his own excitement.  
Gendry was joining them, having been named Lord of Storms End, as well as the Lannisters, Ser Brienne, and Varys. Varys was nervous about what Daenerys would do, but he stated that he may as well get her judgment over with. He was fairly sure she wouldn’t execute him, at the very least.

Jon could only think about what he would say to Dany when he saw her again.   
He wondered if the illness had hit her again. Was she doing well? Was she happy now that she had the throne at last? For a moment, as his mind roved the possibilities of what she might be doing, he thought she may have died from the illness. Kinvara had told him that the infections would keep coming back, that eventually one of them would kill her, if she didn’t allow Kinvara to perform a sacrifice. Jon knew she never would. His stomach twisted in a knot of fear, but he reminded himself that this was impossible, they would have been told, surely. It wouldn’t happen suddenly.  
She would have days of pain and fever first, he thought dismally. 

Kinvara had said that she could keep using potions, Jon reminded himself. It could be years before they lost her.   
He shuddered and forced his mind to think about seeing her. He had that to look forward to, and there was no reason to take that one joy away from himself by thinking about something that might not happen for years. 

************************

Daenerys had spent hours looking over the records of stores the lords and ladies had presented to her. It wasn’t enough.   
She’d gone to sit with her children, who had taken to the dragon pit and seemed happy to nest there, but today Viserion was curled up in one spot, hissing at anyone who passed.   
When he saw her, he leaned toward her, nuzzled her, so she could feel his love, then pushed her gently away, curling back into his spot. 

She walked back to her room. She needed to find out more information. Her dragons had always protected her, and she loved them with her entire being. She had to protect them now.   
Viserion was her gentlest child. His sudden hissing frightened her, because she knew well that people were wary of dragons. How much more so would they be of one who had become unstable?  
He’s not unstable, her mind protested.   
But something was wrong. Had he been injured? 

Added to this anxiety, was another letter from the North. Apparently all the lords and ladies were joining Jon and Sansa, so they could vote on independence. Their smallfolk would be voting as well. Dany was happy that they were planning to be so active in the decision, but she’d thought this was a decision already made. They’d been clear in their position, and she couldn’t understand why they needed a vote at all.   
What was more frustrating, was that Sandor Clegane was not joining them, and she needed to know if he planned to take back Clegane’s Keep. 

She had asked Grey Worm and Missandei if they would be willing to hold official positions until they were ready to leave for Naath, and they had agreed.  
She was firm in the idea that her small council should have two people in each position rather than one.   
She named Grey Worm her Master of War, repeating to him what she’d told him in her dream. He was indeed the bravest of men, the most loyal of soldiers. She saw on his face only joy and pride, and no trace of the pain that had broken both of them at the loss of Missandei in her vision. Missandei stood proudly beside him.   
She’d had a second Hand pin made, and this she presented to Missandei. 

For her second Master of War, she’d chosen Randyll Tarly.   
They’d sat together with Lady Olenna after the last meeting, when he’d defended her to Lord Crakehill.   
“I want to thank you, Lord Tarly, for your loyalty.”  
“You’ve earned my loyalty, Your Grace.”  
“I do think that if there are rumors about me, it’s best that I know about them.”  
“Of course, but they should be presented respectfully, and not the way he presented it.  
You realize, if you wanted to, you could drive the world to its knees.”  
She sighed, remembering again the terrible dream.  
“Yes. But that’s not our aim. Our aim is to help the world to its feet.”  
“I understand that, Your Grace. But I will not allow them to disrespect you while you’re trying to help them.”  
She explained to him her plan for having two people for each position on her council, and asked if he would serve as her Master of War alongside Grey Worm.  
He bowed his head, and said it would be his honor.   
She had named Willas Tyrell and Sarella Sand her Masters of Laws.   
She had asked Lady Olenna if the Reach, like the North and the Iron Islands, were interested in independence. She had laughed heartily at that.  
“Forgive me, child. I appreciate the offer, but we have no desire to secede from the kingdoms.”

She had also brought the subject up again to Lady Yara.   
They had been drinking, Dany her wine and Yara her ale, and talking about their experiences, and Yara had mentioned how they’d lost their independence. Dany thought this was a good opportunity to broach the subject.  
“Your independence is yours, we’ve agreed to terms. We can discuss further terms whenever you wish.”  
Lady Yara had grinned at her. “I love a woman who keeps her promises. I found out about your will. They told me you had thought our independence important enough to bring it up on your death bed.”  
“We had an agreement. You kept your part. And we’re friends, aren’t we? Of course it was important.”  
“Aye, we’re friends. If Cersei hadn’t died, I’d have killed her with my own hands for poisoning you.”  
Dany smiled, squeezing her hand. “Thank you for that. As you can see, I’m quite alive, and I want to fulfill my promise to you.”  
“And I’m sure you will. But in your will, you also named Jon Snow your heir. Because he’s King in the North. You wanted at least a temporary unity while the realm recovers.”  
“Yes, but-“  
“And I know you named Willas Tyrell your second heir.”  
“I did. How did you find out?”

Yara sighed, drinking deeply. “I was not happy to hear you were writing a will. It felt...final. As if you’d accepted that you were going to die. And I wrote to Lord Tyrion to ask for the details. Because I...I couldn’t be there. I couldn’t come to you like I wanted. We had to hold the Bay. I felt like...” she flushed a little. “I don’t know. I wanted every detail of what happened. I didn’t tell the Tyrells. I thought they’d find out anyway. In most cases like this, it would be for your protection. People may seem loyal, but then you put them in line for the throne, and that loyalty disappears. That won’t happen with the Tyrells. It might, if it were a different situation. But they love you. They wouldn’t harm a hair on your head for a dozen thrones. If anything, it would make them more loyal. Anyway, when Lord Tyrion told me that you were hoping for a temporary unity just to reestablish peace, for a realm you thought you would die before getting to rule...and Sansa Stark just started whinging about independence...I thought, the Iron Islands can wait.”

Daenerys was overwhelmed by Yara’s statement, and could only sit for a moment in silence, blinking back tears that threatened, drinking her wine.   
“I want you to have what I promised you,” she finally said.  
“And I will. I have absolute faith in you, Your Grace.”  
Daenerys caught her hand again. “We’re alone together. Please, just call me by my name.”  
“Ok...Daenerys.” She grinned. “But again, I know you’ll give us our independence.”  
“I’m not giving it to you. It’s yours. You’ve earned it.”  
“After everything is settled. When the realm recovers. Then I’ll happily be the Queen of the Iron Islands. But not before.”  
Dany sighed. “Alright, then. Would you be willing to be on my council during that time?”  
“You want me on your council?”  
“Very much. I’m missing a Master of Ships, and I wanted to have two individuals for each position, and as of now I don’t even have one. You know ships better than anyone I know.”  
“I’d be honored, Your...Daenerys.”

Daenerys walked through the gardens of the Red Keep. They were still lush, as if news of winter hadn’t affected them, and as much as Dany loved to see the blooms around her, she wondered if it might be better to pull up everything and try to coax one more harvest of food before winter hit the Crownlands in earnest. 

She expressed this to Lord Willas, who had joined her on her walk.   
“Your Grace, the Reach is going to have another harvest. I don’t want you to rob yourself of the joy of these gardens. I know precious little has brought you joy in your reign thus far.”  
She sighed. “It will bring me joy to be able to feed everyone.”  
“It will be hard, but we can do it.”  
“I wonder if we could manage to secure enough Myrish glass to build glass gardens all over the realm,” she mused.   
“It’s possible. Not every place has hot springs like Winterfell, but there may be other methods. It’s not only the glass we have to think about, but it could be done. In places where winter has already settled, though, the building will be near impossible.”

“I’d like to figure out whether we have anything to trade. I wonder if we could set up some temporary quarters so that people who are interested, could learn other languages. I’ve named Missandei my Hand in addition to Lord Tyrion. She speaks nineteen languages. This could be very helpful in trade, being able to communicate. But it has to be in the next year. After that, she and Grey Worm intend to sail for Naath.”  
Lord Willas frowned. “How long are they staying in Naath?”  
Dany sighed, fighting her own sadness, reminding herself that her dear friends deserved happiness. “They plan to live there. Defend its people.”  
“What about the butterfly fever?”  
“Butterfly fever?”  
“It’s a terrible illness that kills anyone who isn’t native to Naath. They believe it’s carried by the enormous butterflies, and that’s why the island is only attacked at night. The butterflies are mainly out during the day.”  
Daenerys shuddered. She would have to warn them. But what if they didn’t believe her? If they thought she was only telling them this to make them stay with her?  
No, she thought, they would never think that.   
“Is there any way to prevent it?”  
“Avoiding Naath during the day seems to be effective. But I suppose if that’s where they wish to go, you’re thinking of other methods. I’ll see what I can find.”  
“Thank you.” Dany’s shoulders slumped under yet another weight. 

She could not regret coming to Westeros. Surely the North would have fallen to the dead. Cersei would have attacked Highgarden. Euron Greyjoy would have attacked Lady Yara. Ellaria Sand would have been taken.   
And it hadn’t cost her nearly what it had in her vision.   
Maybe too, if she’d never come to Westeros, Missandei and Grey Worm would have sailed to Naath already, and died from the fever. Grey Worm was not native to Naath. Missandei hadn’t been there in years.  
She had gained much in coming to Westeros.  
But the pain from the ravages inside her, made by the poisoning, was persistent and never allowed her a full day of peace. And the demands of a realm on the edge of famine far exceeded her resources. As loyal and generous as her allies may be, she was a beggar. There could be no denying it.  
And now something was happening with Viserion. She’d had to order that no one approach him. Even she had to exercise caution now, and she was terrified for his safety. Gone were the days when she’d believed no one could harm her magnificent children. 

And Viserion, her sweetest son, had become a hissing, dangerous dragon. If someone harmed him...she shuddered.  
She and Lord Willas walked in silence as she pondered.   
“Are you all right?” He asked her.  
“Yes. I’m just...thinking.”  
“What are you thinking?” She hesitated, and he went on, “Your Grace, it truly makes me happy to serve you. Please tell me. Maybe I can help. And if I can’t, you can at least get it off your mind.”  
She sighed, looking at him gratefully.   
“Naath has a disease that could kill my friends. They’ll be heartbroken when I tell them. I don’t have enough wealth saved for the mounting costs, or a quarter of what I want to do. Viserion isn’t well. He’s hissing at everyone, and won’t leave his spot in the pit. He won’t let me close enough to see if he’s hurt. I have no idea how much time I have left. I don’t know whether Sandor Clegane intends to reclaim his family’s keep, so I’m faced with either letting his land lay fallow or using his land without permission, because he isn’t coming with the Northerners to tell me what he wants to do. People think I burned Kings Landing. Which is bad enough. But if they believe my dragons are that kind of dangerous, they may harm them when I...when I’m gone. The North was very firm on independence but now they’re fighting about it.” She broke off. She was not going to discuss Jon Snow. 

“We will research what, if anything, can be done about the butterfly fever. My grandmother and I are happy to help you as far as wealth. Viserion...how close did he let you get to him?”  
“Not very,” she said, and told him what had happened.  
“Your Grace...how much do you know about the reproductive habits of dragons?”  
“Nothing, sadly. Why?”  
“The next time you approach Viserion, try to look at the spot he’s guarding.”  
“He won’t let me.”  
“He might. You’re his mother. Just try to get a glimpse if you can.”  
She stared at him. “You don’t think...”  
“I don’t want you to get your hopes up, especially if something is wrong. But if there’s a clutch of eggs, he’ll guard them...or, I suppose, she will. If I’m correct.”  
Daenerys’ heart was pounding. Might her children have produced children? Was that what was happening?

“With regard to Clegane’s Keep, send a raven. If he doesn’t answer you, put someone in charge of the land temporarily. We’ll clear the rumors of you burning the city before long, and we’ve been searching for a way to heal you. We will not just stand by and let you die.” This last was spoken with a fierceness that took her by surprise. “As far as the North, if they don’t bend the knee to you after all you’ve done, and in the face of all the ruin caused by years of war, they’re fools. There’s only so much you can do there.”  
“I don’t want them to starve. They took care of me when I was poisoned. They came here and fought for me.”  
“And even if they hadn’t, you have an unlimited compassion. You went there at great risk to yourself, long before they’d done anything for you. I don’t want to be too harsh on them, but I can’t help but be angry at them for letting it happen. And Varys should have had the antidote ready. But I’m grateful for what they did do.”  
“I am too. I can’t just leave them to their fate if they choose independence.”  
“I understand. But if they do choose independence, you don’t have to go to them to help. Let them come to you. It’s important for a kingdom who wants independence to understand what that means. It’s not as if your rule would be oppressive. You aren’t seizing their land or making them change anything about their ways.”  
She nodded. “But if they ask-“  
He laughed tenderly. “I know. If they ask, you’ll help them.”  
Ser Jorah approached them, and Daenerys smiled warmly at him.   
“Your Grace, a man named Tycho Nestoris is here. He’s from the Iron Bank, he wishes to see you.” He looked concerned.   
Daenerys sighed. “All right. Thank you.”  
“I’ll join you,” Lord Willas said. “Ser Jorah, if you would be so kind, please let my grandmother know as well.”  
Daenerys glanced at him, surprised. “This is not your debt. I don’t want-“  
“We don’t have to attend your meeting with him if you don’t want us to. But we want him to know we support you. The Reach does not owe them anything, and we can provide a significant first payment if it becomes necessary.”  
She sighed, biting her lip. She was nervous. She’d heard enough about the Iron Bank, to have no desire to be on the wrong side of them.   
She remembered how, in her vision, Cersei had used the gold she’d stolen from Highgarden to pay them, securing a loan to hire the Golden Company.   
She squared her shoulders and walked toward the study, to get through this meeting.   
When it’s over, she promised herself, she would go to Viserion.


	22. Chapter Twenty Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany gets visitors at Kings Landing, Randyll Tarly finally apologizes to Lady Olenna, and of course Lord Willas knows what cashmere is! The cusp of Jon and Dany’s reunion, too.   
Thank you all so much for your comments, which inspire me so much, and for reading my fanfic!

Chapter Twenty Two

Daenerys sat across from Tycho Nestoris, her palms pressed flat against her legs. She would not let them tremble.   
I must not fear, she commanded herself.  
Tycho smiled at her. “Congratulations on winning the Iron Throne, and restoring your family’s name.”  
She swallowed and lifted her chin. “Thank you. How can I help you?”  
His smile widened. “I’m sure you’re aware, the crown owes the Iron Bank a good deal of gold.”  
“Yes. I’m quite aware. Do you have exact numbers?”  
He removed a few scrolls from his leather sack, and handed them to her. She took them, and felt her stomach drop as she looked at the numbers.  
“If you need verification-“  
“I don’t,” she said.  
“As you can see, this is the total debt of all Westeros, but we’ve broken down each kingdom’s debt separately. I understand some of the kingdoms may be requesting independence. If you like, we can approach those new kings or queens separately on the debts of their kingdoms.”  
Daenerys shuddered. She suspected it was only the North-specifically Sansa Stark-who might demand immediate independence, and they were in no position to pay the sum allocated to them.  
She sighed.   
“If I’m not mistaken, the kingdoms were not independent at the time they incurred these debts,” she said.   
“Indeed.”  
“That makes them my debts. What is the best arrangement you can give me?”  
He looked surprised. “We would like to collect immediately.”  
“I don’t have this. You must know I don’t have this.”  
“Yet you fought for a crown that you knew came with a debt.”  
“I did. And rest assured, I will pay you back. But even if I had this sum, even if I were able to pull this forth by bleeding every kingdom dry, it would break us. Yet well I know that refusing to pay you back will also break us. I can make a small payment now, and then once the realm recovers I will pay back the rest. Preferably over time.”  
“You know your actions in Essos have cost us,” he told her.  
She looked at him, startled. “Your bank is in Braavos.”  
Tycho’s smile slipped ever so slightly. “While of course we don’t support slavery directly-“  
“You shouldn’t be supporting it at all!” Daenerys stormed, forgetting that this man represented an institution that could crush her, forgetting that she had to tread carefully. “You’re in Braavos! You went to war with Pentos over slavery! It’s your first rule!”  
Tycho leaned back in his chair, studying her, and she flushed. She was debating whether to apologize for her tone, if not her words, when he spoke.  
“You know of course, being such a student of history, that we’ve never been fond of dragonlords, either. We don’t have a good history with them.”  
“Because back then, dragonlords were attempting to maintain slavery. My dragons are doing the opposite.”  
“Quite so. In any event, I did not travel here for a philosophical discussion. The fact remains you have cost us money and you have a considerable debt.”  
“And I will pay the debt, as I’ve said. As far as my costing you money, you may want to consider calling back any debts that rely on slavery. Even indirectly. I will not be allowing slavery to continue, so if you hope to recover your gold in that area, you’d best start soon. But the debt I inherited by taking this crown, you may rest assured I have every intention of paying you back.”  
“Intention doesn’t impress us. Results do.”  
“And thus far my intentions have yielded those results.”  
“Indeed.” His smile returned. “You may not have to be so impoverished as you are now. Your free cities could give you tributes.”  
“I will not be demanding tributes.”   
“Essos has three cities that still adore you.”  
She almost smiled at that. “It’s kind of them to remember me fondly. But they are rebuilding their cities. Asking them for tributes would break them, as paying you the entire sum of our debt would break us. And it would be worse. They owe me nothing.”  
“On the contrary, Your Grace, they owe you their freedom.”  
“They do not owe me their freedom. And even if they did, how would it be to have freedom, if I then yoke them with chains of debt, of having to pay me tribute? No, I will not ask it of them.”  
“Why don’t we revisit this after you’ve spoken to the lords and ladies of the realm?”  
She nodded, sighing. “All right. Please consider staying here at the Red Keep as my honored guest.”  
“I’ll do that. Thank you. In the meantime, you may wish to look into what’s been happening in your cities of Essos. Your regent is working day and night to uphold your work. But he only has two thousand men, and the masters do not expect you to return. If you wish to keep your freed people free, you may have to intercede.”   
Dany felt a chill down her back. “Has something happened?”  
“Not yet, but in all likelihood it will.”  
“Why are you telling me this?”  
“If we do as you’ve suggested and call back our debts from all those whose fortunes depend on slavery, and then slavery returns, it will cost us.”  
She shuddered. She would have to find out about this.   
“It will not return. Thank you for telling me,” she said.   
She stood, and he stood as well.  
“I look forward to a long and productive relationship, Your Grace.”  
As she left the study, Lady Olenna and Lord Willas were waiting outside.  
“I’d like to speak with him as well,” Lady Olenna said.   
Dany looked at her warily. “What will you say to him?”  
“Don’t you worry about that, child. Willas and I will speak with him. You go on out to your dragons. Willas tells me you’ve been worried about them.”  
She nodded, and stood aside to let them enter her study.   
She was concerned. She didn’t want Lady Olenna to take on any of this debt.

She walked outside toward the dragon pit.   
She saw Viserion, hissing as he noticed her, but still within the tether between them she felt his love for her. 

“Sweetling, please,” she said, as she approached. Drogon and Rhaegal flew down to her as she walked closer. “I love you,” she told them. “You know I would never hurt you.”  
She spent over an hour there, talking to them, finally sitting down in despair.  
She felt tears burning her eyes, and wiped them away impatiently. She’d lost her children before, had stood before them with strength and love, but this was different.   
Viserion leaned toward her, nuzzling her, and then stepped back, unfurling his wing to show her...she stared, her heart pounding in awe.  
A clutch of eggs were indeed settled there. Six shimmering eggs.  
She stood, and Viserion remained where he was...where she was? To let Dany approach.  
She stepped closer and sat beside the eggs, all three of her dragons leaning close to her. She could feel their pride rolling off them in waves.  
My family, she thought, and allowed her tears to come, tears of joy. 

Returning from the dragon pit, she saw Lady Olenna and Lord Willas, who both approached her, seeing her tears.  
“What is it?” Willas asked.  
“Are you all right, child?” Lady Olenna asked, pressing her hand against Dany’s forehead to check for fever. “You feel hot,” she said, her voice soft but urgent.  
“I’m always hot, especially after being with my children,” Dany assured her, taking her hand and squeezing it affectionately. She looked at Willas. “You were right. About Viserion.”  
“What’s happening with Viserion?” Lady Olenna asked, her eyes going from Dany’s face to Willas’.  
“Eggs?” He said hesitantly.  
Dany nodded. “Six.”  
“Six dragon eggs?” Lady Olenna said in disbelief. “Oh, my dear. And we thought you were unstoppable before...congratulations.”  
“Thank you,” Dany murmured, and she felt a happiness that was almost overwhelming. Then she frowned, remembering. “What did you say to Tycho Nestoris?”  
“We need to talk. Come.”  
They walked back to the study, and Lady Olenna poured them some wine.  
“I told him I will make the first payment,” Lady Olenna said.  
“I don’t want you to-“  
“It’s already done, my dear. He told us you intend to cover the debts of independent kingdoms.”  
“They incurred those debts while still unified-“  
“No,” Lady Olenna said firmly. “Unless they used what they borrowed for the crown, you are not responsible for those debts. If these kingdoms refuse to swear fealty to you, I see no reason why you should be yoked with their debt.”  
Dany sighed. “Lady Yara has agreed to a temporary unity.”  
“Yes, and she is your Master of Ships. And she held the Bay and supported your claim from the beginning. I’m not talking about her. The Iron Islands don’t owe so much anyway.”  
Dany sighed. “You’re talking about the North.”  
“Yes. The North.”  
“They fought for me here-“  
“And you fought for them there.”  
“The Night King would have been a threat to the entire realm.”

“And so was Cersei. No, my dear. If they want to be independent, and you intend to let them, they must bear the consequences as much as reap the benefits. I remember something a wise and lovely queen said, some time ago. She said ‘you can’t decide to be independent when it suits you.’ Do you know what happened to that queen? She seems to have disappeared, and left a tender hearted fool in her place.”

Dany had to laugh at that, then sighed. “The North is in no position to pay debts.”

“Then they are in no position to demand independence. You are not harming them. You aren’t refusing to trade with them. You are being more than fair. And I know that you will aid them when possible, despite my protests. But as well you know, you have a responsibility to the kingdoms that do swear fealty. You have no responsibility to those that don’t.”

“They’re going to think I’m doing this to hurt them.”

“What they think is none of my concern. And it shouldn’t be yours, either. If they have the sense the Seven gave them, they can use it. They have no right to expect you to pay their debts.”

Dany thought about Jon. He would have to struggle to keep the Northerners fed. She thought of the women who’d come in after the battle for the dawn, gently pouring warm water over her head to push back the cold that had settled into her. She even thought of Sansa, reading to her as she lay helpless in shivering pain. 

“They were kind to me.”  
“Were they? Before or after you saved their lives?”  
She winced. “After,” she murmured.

“My dear, I admire your compassion. If it was a debt they owed you, that you wanted to cancel, I might still try to convince you otherwise, but it would be fair. But this...you already have too much debt that was not your doing, from loans that did not benefit you. You aren’t responsible for the wars that were waged before you arrived here. Yet the crown is yours. So the debt is yours. I know how it works. But you have a duty to provide for the people who swear fealty to you. You do not have a duty to those who don’t.”

Dany knew Lady Olenna was right. She had a duty to feed and shelter those who swore themselves to her. She could not put them at risk of starvation for those who refused to do so.  
“All right,” she reluctantly agreed.  
“Good. Now that’s settled, I want to discuss this idea you had to build an aqueduct in Kings Landing. I’ve sent word to meet with the builders. I’d like to start as soon as possible.”  
Dany glanced in surprise at Willas, who was smiling at her.  
“I told you she’d love the idea,” he said.  
“It will be expensive,” Dany warned.  
“Well, of course it will,” Lady Olenna said. “This is a job that must be done correctly.”  
“You’ve already spent too much-“  
“Let me worry about that. And your Master of Coin. Speaking of which, you don’t have one.”  
Dany sighed. “It’s not a position people seem to want in the best of times. It seems sadistic to saddle someone with it now.”  
“Nonsense. It’s considered an honor to be on the Queen’s small council.”  
“I don’t know...”  
“Please don’t choose some wastrel, that’s all I ask.”  
She laughed. “I’ll choose anyone you recommend, who won’t want to stab themselves in the head trying to manage all this.”  
Lady Olenna and Lord Willas glanced at each other.   
“My son Mace was Master of Coin to Tommen,” Lady Olenna said.   
“Did he hate it?”  
“He found it overwhelming, but that was primarily because Cersei didn’t listen to anyone. You tend to listen to your advisors, and perhaps you don’t obey them, but you at least present your position and listen to theirs.” She indicated Willas. “You could choose him.”   
Willas looked at his grandmother in embarrassed chagrin. “She’s already named me Master of Laws.”  
“As if you couldn’t handle both.”  
“If you would be willing, I’d be happy to have you as Master of Coin. I’d have chosen one of you immediately, if I didn’t think it was such an unhappy position,” Dany said.  
Willas flushed. “I don’t want to take advantage of you by having two positions-“  
“Take advantage of me? You have both been nothing but kind and good to me! I feel as if I’m taking advantage of you!”  
“You aren’t, I can assure you,” he told her.  
“May I remind you, we would both be dead if not for you,” Lady Olenna said.  
“But that doesn’t mean you have to pay for everything I want.”  
“Everything you want? Child, just once I’d love to pay for something you truly want. But all the things you want are for the betterment of the realm. And I’m well able to pay for these things.”  
“You gave me my sword,” Dany reminded her. “And I cherish it. And if Lord Willas hadn’t written to Kinvara I’d have died of infection.”  
“I don’t want you to die,” Willas said fiercely.  
“And nor do I,” Lady Olenna said. “Speaking of which, Kinvara told us that she has something she could do to take away the damage you suffered from the poison, for good. But you won’t let her do it.”  
Dany shuddered. “Blood Magic. She would have to sacrifice someone.”  
“And you don’t want to do that,” Lady Olenna observed.  
“Absolutely not.”  
“I can understand that,” Lady Olenna conceded.  
“Does she have a specific person in mind?” Willas asked.  
“I don’t think so. But I’m not going to let her burn someone innocent.”  
Willas looked as if he would say something else, but seeing her expression, decided against it.  
“We’re going to revisit this if your infection comes back,” Lady Olenna said firmly. “I can’t say I support Blood Magic. And as I’ve told you, we’ve been having people search far and wide for other ways.”  
Then, to Dany’s relief, they returned the conversation to the aqueduct, and planning for the orphanages and library.   
She may not be eager to allow Lady Olenna to pay for these things, but she found a joy in planning them.

**************************

The caravan would be at Kings Landing in two days. Just two days, and Jon would see Dany again. He thought about her face the last time they’d spoken. Drawn with heartbreak. Sadness, weariness.   
Go home, Jon.   
She did not believe he loved her. And how could she? He’d abandoned her, in this life and that one, once he found out about his parentage. In that other life, she’d suffered devastating losses, and he had withdrawn his love anyway.  
He’d murdered her.   
He could remember, now that Bran had told him, now that terrible dreams had come to him.   
A ruined throne room. Her beautiful face, but empty.  
They don’t get to choose, she’d said.   
He had been so afraid, so sure she would burn everyone and everything that stood between her and the world she wished to build.   
Tyrion had told him she’d crucified hundreds of Meereese nobles in that vision.   
Jon wanted to ask her about it, but it would only make her angrier.  
“She liberated Slavers Bay, and she liberated Kings Landing, and she’ll go on liberating...” Tyrion had said.  
But Jon knew now that she had in fact liberated Slavers Bay. It wasn’t even Slavers Bay now, it was the Bay of Dragons. Tyrion’s words had been spoken in a way to make him think she’d burned it as she’d burned the capitol.  
Jon glanced at Tyrion. He was riding nearby, and Jon slowed his horse to ride closer.  
“Lord Tyrion,” he greeted.   
“Your Grace,” Tyrion returned, smiling.  
“Can I ask you something?”  
“Of course.”  
“Did Daenerys crucify hundreds of Meereenese nobles?”  
Tyrion frowned, looking at him. “She crucified exactly one hundred and sixty three Meereenese nobles. And they had crucified one hundred and sixty three innocent children, out of malice. To upset her. To anger her. They succeeded. She wanted to avenge the children.”  
Jon felt a shot of rage course through him.   
You left that out when you told me to murder her, he thought angrily.   
You have to choose NOW, Tyrion had said.  
Why? Why had he only that day to choose? That minute?  
Why could he not give her time, time to be herself again?  
When the free folk had slaughtered men, women and children in Olly’s village, had slaughtered everyone in Mole’s Town, Jon had forgiven them and let them pass the Wall.   
They’d murdered children, too.  
Jon had known they needed to band together to fight the Night King, so he saved them.  
And all together their forces had not provided the support that Dany had with her armies and dragons.   
Tyrion had said to him, “my father was an evil man, my sister was an evil woman. Pile up all the bodies of all the people they ever killed, it still won’t be half as many as our beautiful queen slaughtered in a single day.”  
Jon wondered now if that was true. How many died in Castamere? In Tywin’s sack of Kings Landing? In the Sept? And those were just the major incidents of killing.   
And even if it was true, it was only because they didn’t have dragons. If Cersei or Tywin had had dragons...  
And then, how many lives had they saved?  
How many people had they freed?  
Was that number anywhere close to the lives Dany had saved?  
Jon shuddered. He’d given Dany up as lost in a single conversation, that hadn’t lasted a full five minutes. And then he’d murdered her.   
How could she possibly trust him again?  
Even if he could make her understand...  
Make them understand, make them see they made a mistake, he’d entreated her.  
She might understand.  
But she would never trust him.  
He had been used in that life, by almost everyone around him.   
He had allowed himself to be manipulated by Sansa, by Tyrion, by the Northern lords. Even Sam. He’d told Jon about his parents, right before the battle for the dawn, knowing the stakes. Raged about his father and brother as if they weren’t oath breakers; as if they hadn’t massacred men, women and children, people who had been their friends; as if they hadn’t been offered a pardon.   
But she had never used him, never manipulated him.  
But Gods, she was going to burn the world. She’d said so, hadn’t she? He hadn’t understood the language she spoke in her speech, but it had sounded ominous.   
She’d said to him, they don’t get to choose.  
How far she’d been from the queen who said that freedom means making your own choice.  
“Are you all right?” Tyrion asked him.  
“Are you going to betray her again?” Jon asked.  
Tyrion frowned. “No,” he said softly. “And I doubt she intends to keep me on as her Hand. I didn’t mean to betray her. If I knew my sister would have her poisoned, I’d have never written the letter to my brother.”  
Tyrion’s face had paled slightly, and Jon felt guilty.   
“She may not keep you on as Hand. But if she does, and you harm her-“  
“I won’t,” Tyrion said. “I never meant to harm her. I love her. I believe in her. I...I miss her. I destroyed our friendship, and I can only hope I may find a way to earn it back. I doubt she’ll ever trust me again.”  
Jon sighed deeply. “That makes two of us.”  
“You? She adores you.”  
Jon winced. Not anymore, he thought dejectedly.  
“I broke things off with her when I found out about our shared blood.”  
And I stabbed her. I called her my queen and kissed her, and slid my dagger into her.   
“She’ll forgive you,” Tyrion said. “It’s not as if you almost got her killed, as I did.”  
Jon had nothing to say to that.  
He had done worse in another life.  
And so had she. Far worse.   
She must know, he thought desperately. She must know what she did was terrible beyond measure.  
But of course she knew. If she thought it was right, she’d have woken from the dream and done it again.   
“She’ll forgive both of us. But she’ll never trust us again.”  
“She’ll never trust me again,” Tyrion corrected. “She has no reason to mistrust you.”  
Jon didn’t respond to that.   
Two days, he thought. He would see her again. 

***************************

Sansa was anxious. She sat in her carriage and worried as they grew closer to the capitol. She hadn’t been to Kings Landing in years, and was not eager to return. The argument over Northern independence had not gone as she’d hoped thus far. Some of the lords were on her side. She knew Lady Lyanna was in agreement with her for the most part. But Daenerys had somehow managed to convince too many people that she was a worthy queen, and the fear of starvation was pressing on them.  
Sansa remembered her father saying that he’d found his true friends on the battlefield.   
Daenerys had fought during the battle of Winterfell, such that the men had been awed by her. And if that hadn’t been enough, her flying her dragons to Kings Landing to warn them of wildfire had made them even more enamored of her.   
This was mitigated only by Jon’s actions. They had already admired him, and now he’d become a legend to them.  
They would not so casually crown another, when their own king had shown such valor.   
The women too, were torn for the same reasons.   
They had been horrified that morning after the battle, as the crypts were found to be the horror Daenerys had predicted. And the night Bran had confirmed the wildfire plot, they had seen Daenerys, stumbling about feverishly, then mounting her dragon to fly across the continent to save their fathers, brothers, husbands, sons.  
But they had heard what Jon had done as well, flying on Rhaegal in and out of the burning city to rescue people.   
And of course they could not have failed to notice his pretty face. And as king, whoever he married would be queen. This was a powerful motivator for them to want him to remain king, and marry one of them, or their daughters.   
That angered Sansa. She would have to answer to Jon’s wife as well as Jon.   
Her only comfort there, was that Jon was unlikely to marry. He was in love with his aunt.  
Targaryens, Sansa thought with a bitter smile.   
Of course the only two left in the world, would find each other and promptly fuck.  
What was worse in Sansa’s mind, was that the love and admiration that the Northerners had for Jon, that should have sealed his position as king rather than lord or warden, was likely to push them into yielding their independence because Jon himself was stupidly advocating for fealty to Daenerys.   
Sansa believed him when he said he was concerned about the people starving. But she suspected strongly that his love for the silver haired queen was a factor as well.   
How could he not see that the North should be independent?  
They know no king but the king in the North, whose name is Stark. They’d said it enough times. But of course Jon was a Targaryen.   
What if the North knew this? Would they become suspicious of his motives in trying to advocate for fealty to Daenerys? Would they seek to crown him, and unseat Daenerys?  
Jon would surely grant them independence if he sat the Iron Throne, and aid them as well.  
Sansa shook the thought from her mind. It bordered too closely on treason.   
And Daenerys herself had said Sansa would seek to have her murdered if it meant Sansa being given the Northern crown. And surely to unseat Daenerys, would mean to murder her.  
Sansa would not prove her right.  
Jon is my brother, she reminded herself. And if she had to answer to someone, it could be far worse than Jon.   
But the closer they got to Kings Landing, the tighter were the knots in her belly.  
She had been miserable for most of her time in Kings Landing, and even the memories of early days that had brought her some joy at the time, were tinged now with grief and guilt.  
She thought of Lady, her beloved direwolf. Even after Cersei had ordered Lady’s death, Sansa had stupidly wanted to marry Joffrey.   
All her mistakes, her youthful desire to leave Winterfell, to live as queen in Kings Landing, haunted her.  
She’d escaped Kings Landing, had made it back to her home, seen her brother crowned king, found safety and security, and now she had to go back. To treat with another queen in Kings Landing.   
Sansa knew it wasn’t fair to compare Daenerys with Cersei. And Daenerys had agreed to their independence, had followed through on her promise, and now Jon was being a fool.  
Sansa remembered that cold day when lords in the North had crowned him their king. The hall had been dim, and a snowstorm raged outside.  
He’d been honored. She saw that in his face. He’d looked at her, as if for confirmation. For approval, almost.   
How could he be willing to let that go?  
To answer to a southern ruler?  
Yet he was offended whenever she asked him if it was simply that he loved her.  
In two days they would be in Kings Landing. She would try to hold on to her people’s freedom. And her own.

******************************

Daenerys walked through the streets of Kings Landing. Much of the ash and rubble had been cleared, and ropes stretched across the areas that had been destroyed. Guards stood at corners to prevent anyone except builders from entering the broken streets.   
The streets that the wildfire had left standing, were filling up. Builders arriving to begin restoring the city, healers to assist if they were injured while doing so, butchers and fishermen to feed them, had begun returning to Kings Landing, along with their families.   
Daenerys wanted to find people who would teach the children to read. This would help them in the future, she reasoned, but more importantly, it would keep them occupied during the day so they would not try to explore the ruined areas of the city and be injured. Despite the guards standing sentry to prevent that, Daenerys knew too well how quickly children could slip past them.  
She considered having some of the knights teach the children self defense as well. Most of the children were eager to learn the skills, and it would be a compelling reason to keep them out of the dangerous areas.  
During the day, the city was starting to look like a city again. At night, it was almost magical.  
There were long stretches of darkness where the ruins were, and beside them, streets lit with lanterns, and alive with talking and laughing, and the music of minstrels.   
Daenerys found she liked to walk down these streets, talk to the people, buy food from the merchants so she could eat what they ate, to see how they lived, so she could understand their challenges.  
It was important for a ruler to be able to know her people. And it made her feel close to her lost brother Rhaegar. He would do the same, she knew. Walk among his people. She wondered what kind of king he’d have made.  
The kind who leaves his wife and bastardizes his children, she thought angrily. The kind who runs away and puts his entire kingdom at risk. She shook the anger out of her mind. Hadn’t she herself risked everything for love? At least Rhaegar had been confident that Lyanna loved him back.  
She sighed. She continued on down the street. Ser Jorah was walking behind her, ready to defend her. Grey Worm had wanted to join them as well, but she’d insisted he spend his evening relaxing with Missandei. They’d all been so busy, that the two had not gotten to enjoy each other in some time.  
In Grey Worm’s place, Randyll Tarly had joined them.   
“If you’re attacked, you need more than one man guarding you,” he’d explained.  
Ser Jorah had agreed to resume training her, but was so cautious now, so afraid of hurting her. She was weakened, and now that random stabs of pain could slash through her at any time, Ser Jorah would hesitate, fearing her fragility, where before he’d challenged her strength. She couldn’t help but feel bitter. She wanted her strength back.   
Still, she could sometimes forget the pain and weakness and impending doom as she walked, watching the city, her city now, come slowly back to life.

The lords and ladies of Westeros had begun to fill the castle. Lady Olenna had suggested a feast. Dany was concerned about the expense, but could not deny that it was a good idea. The people who had come to the capitol would be undecided about supporting her. A feast would give them an idea of security, of plenty.   
She decided to extend the feast to the common people who had begun to fill the city as well.   
Lady Olenna had chuckled a little at that, but agreed nonetheless.   
Dany watched Lady Olenna with her bannermen, and was once again deeply grateful for the vision that had enabled Dany to save the lady. She learned so much by observing her.   
Lord Tarly had come to apologize to Lady Olenna for burning her castle, for betraying her, for supporting the queen who had murdered her son and grandchildren. For breaking his oath to her.  
“Apologies are wind, Lord Tarly,” Lady Olenna told him. “I’ve known you since you were a boy. I expected better of you.”  
“I have promised your grandson I will begin to make reparations once the realm recovers.”  
“Excellent. As a show of good faith, you can pay for the feast.”  
“Of course, My Lady.”  
And Tarly and Lord Hightower had covered the entire expense.  
As the people poured in, they swore fealty, and some even looked afraid of Dany’s offer for independence.   
In such times, they felt independence would mean exile.   
Daenerys knew however, that Dorne had been independent for some time, only joining the Seven Kingdoms through marriage.   
Dany sat with Ellaria Sand to discuss the matter.  
“We’ve won the war. Cersei is defeated and gone. I need to know what you’d like to to going forward. I have promised independence to those who ask. And you may not like my terms if you don’t choose independence.”   
Ellaria frowned. “What would be your terms?”  
“You would have to choose an heir. Who would take rulership immediately.” Dany sighed. “I appreciate your alliance with me, more than I can express. But you murdered your prince. You murdered his son. You murdered Myrcella Baratheon, who was an innocent child. That’s not so different from what happened to my niece and nephew.”  
Ellaria narrowed her eyes. “Do you intend to execute me?”  
“Of course not! I would not accept your help in war and then turn around and harm you,” Dany said. I’m not Jon Snow and the Starks, she thought bitterly. “But I could not rightly allow you to continue ruling, either.”  
“And if I choose independence I may continue to rule.”  
“Yes,” Dany said, sighing. She did not want to lose Dorne, but she had to keep her promises.  
“You would allow me to choose my heir?”  
“Yes.”  
Ellaria nodded. “I’ll need a little more time. I will choose from among Oberyn’s daughters. And then Dorne will swear fealty to you.”  
Dany released the breath she had not realized she was holding.   
Most of her treats with the nobles were smooth, and she was offered tributes by lords who had not joined the wars, as if they thought they must atone for their neutrality.

Lady Olenna and Lord Willas went over these tributes with her, assuring her that accepting them was not taking advantage of the lords, as Dany feared.  
When ships arrived with men from Essos, Dany was concerned, but the men who approached her from them, assured her that they too had brought gifts.   
“Some of these gifts are from your own cities, as well you know,” one of the captains told her. “They still call you queen.”  
“I’m not their queen. I left instructions for them to choose-“   
“And choose they have. Yet they still call you queen. And of course some cities have sent tribute in hopes of discouraging you from taking their cities, while others have sent gifts in simple gratitude.”  
“Gratitude?”  
“Of course. You’re familiar with Silence? A great vessel once.”  
Dany’s face hardened. “I’m familiar with the vessel.”  
The vessel that cost me allies. The vessel that cost me a child. The vessel that cost me my best friend. The thoughts raged through her mind.  
“Silence was the terror of the seas once. Merchants bowed in fear when they saw the vessel and its fleet,” the captain told her, as his men unloaded crates all around them. “As far as Ibben and Asshai, the Summer Sea. Even the Jade Sea. Years were spent trying to rid the seas of this monstrous threat, and then finally they knew they could do no more than try to avoid the ship. The story we received, is that you destroyed the fleet in minutes.”  
Dany nodded. “I had a significant advantage,” she said, and the captain smiled at her.  
“Yes, Your Grace. Dragons are an advantage in any conflict. And so the merchants, and rulers of cities, the captains and even the emperors of Yi Ti, have decided to send you gifts of gratitude.”  
“Please send them my thanks,” she said, watching the crates now as they were carried to the wharf and then her own men carried them to the Keep.  
Dany sat later with Lady Olenna and Lord Willas, watching them go through the crates to help her assess the value of their contents.  
There were silks, and spices, and jade, gold and pearls and wines. Dried meats and sweets. Silver, bronze, and stones that caught fire in the soft light of the room. Swathes of wool, softer than anything she’d ever touched.   
“It’s goat’s wool,” Willas told her. “It doesn’t always hold up as well as sheep’s wool but it’s far softer and more luxurious.”  
“My dear, you will be able to pay the Iron bank with this. And build your aqueduct. And frankly, about anything else you wish,” Lady Olenna told her. “Yi Ti is one of the wealthiest regions in the world, and they have clearly decided to be extravagant in their gratitude. And of course, I’m sure they don’t wish you to one day attempt to attack them.”  
“I have no reason to attack them. Do I?”  
“You don’t,” Lady Olenna said, smiling.   
“You said I can pay the Iron Bank. Do you mean...all the debts?”  
Lady Olenna sighed, exasperated. “We’re back to this, are we?”  
“If I can comfortably pay them back, I don’t see why-“  
“My dear, at least negotiate first.” Lady Olenna picked up a small rose, carved from jade. “I rather like this.”  
“Please, keep it. Anything here you see that you like, is yours.” She turned to Willas. “Both of you. Please.”  
“Oh, my dear, I hope you don’t make such an offer to everyone.”  
“Of course not! But you have both been...” she hesitated, because she couldn’t put into words what they meant to her. Tears stung her eyes, and Lady Olenna reached over to her, taking her hand and squeezing it lightly.   
Dany smiled tremulously at her. She loved her, this lady with her sharp tongue, shrewd mind and tender smile. She hugged her then, and Lady Olenna hugged her back. 

The day came that Northern banners appeared before the Red Keep, and Dany could not deny the excitement and anticipation, the joy pumping through her, that she would see Jon Snow again.  
In truth, she was eager to see Tyrion as well. She’d missed him sorely.   
She was a little nervous about seeing Sansa, but she vowed that she would welcome her kindly.   
More kind than she was to me, she thought.   
She knew she would also have to see Varys and discuss what had happened. And they’d sent a raven telling her they’d caught Qyburn. He would be accompanying them into the city and left to Dany’s judgment.   
And then of course she was waiting to find out if Jaime and Gendry would choose independence for their regions.   
She knew Arya was with them, and Dany was surprised by her eagerness to see her as well. The woman had taught her so much while training with her, and Dany would never forget how Arya had reacted to her dragons.   
But the pounding of her heart, the tightening in her stomach that for once wasn’t pain, the fluttering in her very blood, was centered on Jon.   
He knew now that she’d burned a city full of civilians. He would never love her again. If indeed he ever had. But she loved him, and she knew she hadn’t done anything now that would make him decide to murder her.  
And she would see him again!   
She watched as the caravan approached, watched as people dismounted from horses or left carriages.   
All visitors were offered rest, food, a bath, before meeting with her. She knew she wouldn’t meet with any of them until evening or even the next morning.   
But she watched from the terrace above.   
And she saw him, checking on everyone to make certain all was well with them.   
He looked just as she had seen him last. Beautiful, he was so beautiful.   
She saw her own men greet them, help them carry their trunks, bring them inside. She saw Tyrion and Jaime walking with Ser Brienne and Varys. Jaime was holding his daughter.  
She saw Sansa, whose face was pale and anxious.  
Dany knew suddenly that Sansa was not happy to be here; no, she was in fact terrified and bitter. Dany vowed again to treat her kindly.   
The people crowded into the Keep, and Dany was glad they would eat and rest before meeting with her. They looked exhausted, and they must be hungry.  
And then it was only Jon, standing outside, talking to Grey Worm.   
Jon had waited, of course, to ensure his people’s comfort before any thought to his own.  
She could remember every inch of his body under the clothing he wore, and she pushed that thought away.   
His eyes were scanning the area, a faint ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his full mouth, as he saw her Targaryen banners draped over the Keep.  
And then he saw her.  
She felt his eyes meet hers, and her breath caught in her throat, her blood pounding in her ears.   
She smiled, and then he smiled. 

********************** 

Jon had ensured that his people were being brought to rooms, and they would be given food. The city was being rebuilt already, he’d noticed, and the Targaryen banners were hung at the gate and here at the Keep.   
As the last of his people entered the castle, he looked around, and caught a flash of silver at the terrace above.  
His eyes fixed on her. She was exquisite.   
Gods, he had missed her.   
She looked straight at him, and then smiled.   
He was smiling back before he even realized it.  
He wanted to rush to her, to run into those halls, to find her. To pull her into his arms and never let go of her until the end of his days.   
Soon, he thought. She was right there. Not close enough to touch yet, but there before him, and it would not be long now before he was in the same room, breathing the same air.


	23. Twenty Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can’t thank you all enough for your comments, you help me so much to get my thoughts together!  
This chapter, Jon and Dany talk, but this is a sloooow burn, Dany finds something really exciting while exploring the Keep, and she has her first council meeting. Jon finally starts really standing up for her.

Chapter Twenty Three

Daenerys had had her tub filled with searing water and allowed herself the indulgence of soaking in it and doing nothing else.  
That morning, she had sat with Lady Olenna and Lord Willas for several hours.   
They had approached her once the caravans of people had settled in, and told her, firmly but not unkindly, that they needed to speak with her.  
“I must repeat what I told you before,” Lady Olenna began. “Now that you’ve received these generous gifts, and the lords of the North, the Vale and the Riverlands are here, I fear we have to repeat our conversation. I know what you want to do. You want to pay the debts of all the kingdoms, regardless of whether they swear fealty to you. You want to provide for them and feed them, even if they choose to defy you.”  
Dany sighed. “They’re not defying me. I promised I would uphold their independence.”  
“All right, remove the word ‘defy’ from my sentence and add whatever word you deem more apt. Can you deny anything else I’ve said?”  
“No. But this could give the entire realm a fresh start after years of war. Why would I not help?”  
“Because if they refuse to call you queen, you cannot pay their debts. If you wish to feed them, you must only do so after you’ve seen to your own people. I know the gifts you’ve received from the East are extravagant, but child, your plans are extravagant. You have to think about the consequences of your plans. Once your library takes hold, the Citadel will fight you.”  
“Fight me?”  
“Not a war, dear, they aren’t fools. At least not in that. But as men begin to realize they need not swear off women and having children to study, as they realize they need not surrender their lands to practice as Maesters, as women begin to realize they can study and become Maesters as well, what do you suppose will happen?”  
“The people will be freer than they’ve ever been. They’ll have the knowledge to build their own life as they wish,” Daenerys said.   
“And what do you suppose will happen to the Citadel?”  
Dany frowned. “Why should anything happen to it?”  
“Come now, stop being foolish. After a time, they will lose much of their prestige. They will be less willing to share their books with you. You don’t want to storm the Citadel, do you?”  
“Of course not.”

“Then you’ll have two other choices. One will be your natural gift for persuasion, which I’ll grant, is powerful. Your sweet little face looking so sad almost had me willing to pay the damn Northern debt before your gifts came, with my own money, even knowing very well it’s the stupidest thing you could do. I’ll admit it’s hard to refuse you.”

Dany’s face softened in tenderness. “I can’t thank you enough for-“

“Stop,” Lady Olenna said, holding up a hand. “There it is again. Irresistible. But resist I must, because I’m not a fool, and I don’t wish to see you be a fool, and that appears to be your singular goal of late. I have watched you learn to stand on your horse, then stand on your dragon. I watched you come near to taking a spear in the head. I watched you learn how to fight. These are only the things I saw since I’ve known you. And well I know that you have learned things and done things before you came to the shores of Westeros. You did not become the Mother of Dragons and Breaker of Chains by being a fool. I understand you want to be a kind and compassionate queen. My granddaughter Margaery was much the same. She liked to share feasts with the commoners, she would walk among the people, she would visit orphans, she was beloved by everyone.”

“I wish I could have known her,” Dany said, hurting at the pain in Lady Olenna’s eyes.

“I do too. But one thing I would never have allowed her to do, is pay the debts of people who would not swear fealty to her. And much as is the case with you, I had trouble resisting her. But she would understand that foolery would not be rewarded. The queen I met moons ago understood that. You seem to have forgotten, and now wish to roll headlong into stupidity, and I know you know better.”

Dany bit her lip, nodding. She could not deny the truth of what Lady Olenna was saying. “And the Citadel?”

“If you can’t persuade them to give you books to copy, and you don’t want to storm Oldtown, you’ll have to offer them much more coin in exchange for copying the books. A lot of coin. And then, Kings Landing is already crowded. People may be crowding it further to go to your library. Maybe you’ll want to build another library.”

Dany’s eyes lit up. “Another one!”

“Yes, I can see that got you excited. And you mentioned building more glass gardens. If you do that, you may want to build a very large one, right in the Crownlands, and build extra lines from your aqueduct-or another one-so you can pipe heated water under it. That will keep food growing even in winter.”

Dany was staring at her in awe. “This can be done?”

“It’s one of the things Lord Willas was discussing with the builders.”

Dany turned to Lord Willas, smiling in admiration. “This is extraordinary!” She said enthusiastically, and he flushed.

“It’s still in the planning stages. But yes, it could be done. And then the Crownlands would not be so dependent on other kingdoms for food,” he told her.

“These things are expensive, my dear,” Lady Olenna said. “And over time, yes, wealth will follow. But you’ll have to spend much, and it will be quite some time before you see any kind of return on these investments. How can you do these things you want to, if you’re attending to the debts of kingdoms that want independence?”

Daenerys sighed. “I suppose I can’t.”

“No. You can’t. And even if you could. It would be stupid. Now I’m not saying you should storm the North with your dragons and armies, although it would certainly show them what they’re dealing with. You want to give them the freedom of whether or not to choose you as their queen. Fine. But if they don’t choose you, they cannot then continue to reap the benefits of having chosen you, they need to let their king sort all this out. If he’s a worthy king, he will. And if not, I’m afraid that’s not your problem. Do you think I don’t know you’ve been considering building a similar library in Meereen?”

Dany looked at her sharply. She hadn’t discussed that with anyone. “How did you-“

“I know you, my dear. And the people of Meereen call you queen. They’ve sent tributes. If after you’ve established ways to feed people here and do all these projects you have in mind, you wish to help your people there, so be it. Truly, there’s nothing inherently wrong with your plans. They will help every person who chooses you to lead them. But there’s no reason you must pay the debts of those who don’t.”

“Jon is a good leader.”

“I’ve no doubt of it. And if you believe that, and his people believe it, then don’t underestimate him. I’m sure he’ll work out a way to pay the Iron Bank and feed his people.”

Dany couldn’t argue that point. Of course Jon would be able to figure something out. 

She sat now in her tub, allowing the hot water to seep into her skin. She was anxious, because she knew she would have to make a decision about Qyburn, about Varys, about Tyrion.   
Qyburn had burned the city, and would have to be punished. But she’d burned the city as well, in another life, and unlike Qyburn, she had targeted innocents.  
And I was executed for it, she thought.  
Qyburn had also built those Scorpions.   
He had been the one to detonate the wildfire under the Sept.   
Even if she didn’t execute him, he would have to face some punishment. She could not be gentle on this.  
It was painful to think of a punishment for a man who had done what she herself had done in that other life.  
Was that why Jon had left it to her?  
A challenge. He had killed her, for what she had done. Now he wanted to see what she would do.  
She shook her head. She was being suspicious. He was more likely leaving the decision to her because the disaster had occurred in Kings Landing.

As far as Varys, she could not execute him. He had not knowingly harmed anyone, and he had saved her life by getting the potion from Dorne. But he had defied her order. How could she keep him on her small council?  
He could be dangerous. He claimed he didn’t want power, but why then had he chosen again and again to serve monarchs? He said his concern was the realm, but the only way to serve the realm, was from a position of power. He would be a dangerous enemy, but he’d been dangerous as an ally as well.   
If she kept him on as Master of Whispers, it would be all the more crucial to choose the right person as a second Master of Whispers. 

And Tyrion. Maybe Tyrion didn’t even want to be her Hand anymore. He’d been advising Sansa, maybe he preferred that. He’d certainly chosen Sansa in that other life, hadn’t he? Dany was happy she would see him again. But if indeed he did want to be her Hand-one of her two-he would have to promise not to keep things from her. But how could she trust his promises now?

And there was the matter of his brother. Jaime Lannister would in all likelihood refuse to bend the knee to her. Would he declare the Westerlands independent?

And of course there was the North.  
The North had suffered. Jon and Sansa were constantly reminding her of this, and that they had won their independence from the Boltons, and now would not kneel to anyone. Anyone but themselves, of course. She had to respect that. 

Lady Olenna was right, if she agreed to pay their debt to the Iron Bank and give them the same assistance as those who bent the knee to her, why should anyone do so?   
And then she would be left with no tax revenue, only endless deficits. 

She wanted to show kindness, and she did not want to allow people to starve.   
But she could not take on their responsibilities if they refused to bend the knee to her.   
She sighed, and climbed carefully out of the tub. Missandei helped her, and began to brush her hair, fashioning it into intricate braids.  
Dany dressed then, in a red gown with black trim, her family’s colors. 

She walked from her room, down the hallway.  
There had been some disagreement over where to meet with the visitors from the North. Dany had met with all her prior visitors at a large table, but Lady Olenna, Ser Jorah, and Lady Yara felt she should meet the Northerners and their allies in the throne room. They may all declare independence, and Dany’s closest friends and advisors thought they should do so before her throne.   
Dany had insisted she should meet them at her table. If they chose to bend the knee, they could do so at her coronation and that would be before the throne. 

She liked the throne. It was not an attractive chair, and certainly not built for comfort. The opposite, truly. But it was not uncomfortable, and for all its blades, it didn’t cut her. It felt right to her. But she knew it was imposing, knew that it represented everything that the North feared and hated.  
Greeting them, particularly Sansa, who had had such pain here, on this throne, seemed cruel to Dany.  
And though she knew it was crucial to appear strong, there was no reason to bring forth memories that would hurt them.  
She would see them at the table she’d set up for Great Council meetings.  
And it would be better anyway, to be able to face them all at once, to make her intentions known.

For now, she decided to walk to the dragon pit. Being close to her children and their eggs made her feel strong, helped her to center herself. 

****************************

Being back at Kings Landing, in the Red Keep, was daunting. Tyrion hadn’t been back since he’d killed his father. Now his father was gone, Cersei was gone. He had noticed the shining Hand pin on Missandei’s chest and felt his heart sink, but then when Grey Worm was bringing him to his rooms, Tyrion had been offered a choice between one of the guest rooms and the Tower of the Hand.  
He had looked in surprise at the man. “Missandei doesn’t like the Tower?” He asked cautiously.  
“She doesn’t. We like to be close to the queen. The queen wishes to have two Hands. She choose two Masters of War, two Masters of Law. She say one is not effective. Missandei and I have one room. We stay in room next to the queen.”  
Tyrion felt a glimmer of hope at this. “Yes, I’d like to stay in the Tower.”  
He couldn’t say why Daenerys would have chosen to have two of each position on her small council, but he fervently hoped he would remain her Hand. 

Returning to the rooms that had been his, long ago, was strange. But the last time, his father had chosen him because he was his son, and Jaime was being held hostage. He had certainly not been Tywin’s first choice. Daenerys had chosen him because of his own mind. His own merit. He wanted to see her, to discuss this. But truly he was exhausted from travel and hungry as well.   
He was given food and the offer to draw a bath, and he eagerly accepted.  
Along with his food, he’d been given a choice of several jugs of wine, and they were the finest he knew. Arbor Gold and Dornish red. One bottle appeared to be from Yi Ti.   
Tyrion wondered just how much the Tyrells were pampering her now, if she could offer such a vintage. 

The Great Council would take place that evening. Certainly he had time to enjoy a bottle.  
A knock sounded at the door, and Jaime entered.   
“I don’t think I’ve ever visited you in these rooms,” he observed, as he sat down.  
“Our father took over the position of Hand before you returned.”  
“Daenerys is going to keep you on as Hand?”  
“I don’t know yet,” Tyrion said anxiously. “But it doesn’t appear she will execute me, so that’s good.”  
“Execute you? You said you were fairly sure she wouldn’t.”  
“I hid from her the fact that Varys disobeyed and defied a direct order to call the armies back. Before that, I wrote to you, knowing you would tell Cersei, in fact asking you to do so, hoping she would send help. Telling an enemy my queen’s whereabouts after she specifically told me not to. It’s treason, Jaime. And both of these actions almost cost her her life.”  
Jaime frowned. “Cersei would have executed you.”  
“I’m aware of that,” Tyrion said tersely. “And Daenerys is a kind and forgiving queen. But she’s not stupid.”  
“What of me? I served her enemy and I killed her father.”  
“She knows why you killed her father.”  
“I know. She told me.”  
“I doubt she’ll execute you. But you’ll have to bend the knee to her, unless as I’ve mentioned, you ask for independence.”  
Jaime nodded, sighing. “I figured as much. She said she wouldn’t harm Joanna.”  
“She won’t. She’s never harmed a child. And her entire campaign has been centered on wishing to be judged by her own character, not her father’s. She was raised in exile, hiding from assassins. She wouldn’t visit that on an innocent child. And as I told you, she intended for us to decide between us who will have Casterly Rock. You’ll bend the knee and take Joanna and Brienne to Casterly Rock.”  
“And you?”  
“Before I hid Varys’ treason, she said she would grant me land when she was dictating her will. But who knows what she’ll do now?”  
“You’ll always have a home with me,” Jaime told him.   
Tyrion smiled tenderly at his brother. “How are you doing?”  
“Doing?”  
“Being back here.”  
Jaime sighed. “It’s hard. There are too many memories. I imagine it will be hard at Casterly Rock as well, but so many memories there are of childhood. That might even be good. It will help me insure the best childhood I can give to Joanna.”  
“Where is she now?”  
“Napping. With Brienne.”  
“Well, have some wine,” Tyrion offered.  
Jaime laughed.  
“I’ll have wine after the Great Council. Right now I just want to prepare myself.”  
They sat in companionable silence, Tyrion drinking his wine and Jaime lost in his own thoughts.

*******************************

Jon was walking though the halls of the Red Keep. He’d never been here, only in the ghostly memory of dreams. And these halls had been battered by dragonfire and falling debris then. Now it stood as it always had. And somewhere in this castle, was his little silver haired queen. He’d only gotten a glimpse of her when they’d arrived, but her smile gave him hope. 

He was allowed to walk freely through the Keep so long as he left his weapons in his chambers. He readily agreed. He wanted to see it, and he had to acknowledge that part of him-most of him-hoped to see her.   
He knew that in another few hours they would all be gathered to meet with her.  
But he wanted to catch her alone.   
He remembered faintly the dragon pit, how he and Daenerys had brought a wight there to show Cersei. Dany had lost a dragon in the attempt to save him, and it had been for naught. Cersei had betrayed them.  
The more Jon remembered, the more he’d seen, that Dany had lost far too much for him, for the North, and he could not think of a single thing he’d done for her in that entire life. Was it that he couldn’t remember? Or had be truly been that selfish? Had he taken so much from her and given nothing back?   
He shuddered.  
The dragon pit was the same, but now...he stopped. Her dragons were there. And so was she.   
She was talking to them, and they were nuzzling against her.   
They saw him, and she turned, meeting his gaze. Viserion hissed at him, and she soothed the golden dragon, murmuring to him, then spoke to the other two.   
She turned back toward Jon now, and approached him.   
Her face was lit from within, by sheer joy, and he wanted to hold her so much that it was almost a physical pain.   
“Your Grace,” he said.   
“Your Grace,” she responded.  
“I missed you.”  
“And I, you.”  
“I wanted to speak with you. Before everyone.”  
She tilted her head, studying him. “All right.”   
She led him through a garden, to a sitting area with tables, and chairs, overlooking a cliff. She spoke to one of her guards, and he walked back toward the castle. Two more guards stood nearby. Jon was relieved to note that she had guards posted everywhere.   
She sat down and he followed suit.   
“Dany...” he broke off. All his heartbreak, his grief and guilt and rage, alive in his voice. He swallowed and tried again. “Bran told me. What happened. Everything. And after he did, I had dreams about it.”  
Dany nodded, and waited, looking at him expectantly. Her face was carefully blank, as if she had no idea what his next words would be, and was unwilling to betray a shred of emotion.  
“And you wanted to talk about it,” she finally said, when he didn’t continue.  
“I...I want to say first, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”  
She sighed. “I’m sorry, too.”  
“You lost so much. And after everything you did, for me, for the North, I just abandoned you.”  
He saw a muscle tighten at her jaw, and she looked away from him, over the side of the cliff.   
“Is that what you wanted to say?”  
“What did you think I would say?” He asked.  
“I don’t know. I burned the city. I targeted civilians.”  
“Why did you do it?”  
She shuddered. “There’s no reason I could give you that would justify what I did. I did it. You executed me. And...that’s it.”  
“That’s not it, Dany. You...you weren’t sorry.”  
“I wasn’t.”   
“I’m just trying to...to understand what was going on in your mind.”  
“It’s as I’ve already said. I was broken. I’ve been trying, all this time, to...to wrap my mind around why...and even if I told you, it wouldn’t matter. It doesn’t justify killing innocents. That was never what I wanted. That was never the queen I wanted to be.”  
“What changed your mind?”  
Dany turned to him, her eyes wide. “Is that what you think happened, Jon? I just changed my mind?”  
“Isn’t it?”  
“When we met in that other life, I told you that what kept me standing all those years in exile, was faith in myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. That faith shattered. The Daenerys Targaryen I had faith in, and all those ideas she represented, of mercy, of patience, of compassion, cost me everything. Everyone who ever loved me. Gone. And when the city fell, so easily, I realized that I’d lost them all, for nothing. I thought I only had fear. My own fear, and their fear.” She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.   
“I loved you so much-“  
“Stop it, Jon. You didn’t love me.”  
“I did. I swear by the old-“  
“You can swear by whatever you like. I’m not going to lay down a list of accusations. If you remember now, if Bran told you, you already know. Nothing you did from our first meeting to our last are the actions of a man who cares about someone.”  
“I only killed you because I was afraid of what you were going to do.”  
“I understand that, Jon. Or I never would have allowed your presence on Dragonstone at all. I know what I became. Worse than my father. Worse than Cersei. I’m not saying what you did that day was wrong. But you did it in the most vicious and cowardly way possible. You were one of the last two people alive I thought I could trust. And you declared yourself to me...You made me believe...” her voice broke and she looked again out over the cliffs. “You may have done the right thing,” she said, when her voice could be trusted. “Or maybe I would have come out of it and regretted what I had done. I’ll never know, and nor will you. But one thing is certain. If you loved me, you would not have given up so easily. And you gave up on me long before that day.”  
“I never gave up on you-“  
“Didn’t you? When I said to you, ‘all right, then. Let it be fear.’ Do you remember what you said to me?”  
“What did I say?”  
“Nothing. You said nothing.”  
“Dany...I’m sorry.”  
“I forgive you. Now let’s move on.”  
“I did love you-“  
“Stop saying that. Please.”  
“I was confused. Finding out that we were related-“  
“You didn’t treat me like family, either. Rhaegal and Missandei died. I was crushed. You couldn’t love me as your woman, but you didn’t love me as your family, either. Varys was trying to poison me-“  
“I didn’t know that at the time-“  
“And Sansa...even after she proved you wrong, and me right. You were still on her side. I understand. You’ll always love your Stark family first, you’ll always put them first. I knew that very well when I met you this time. And gods help me, I still love you. But I can’t trust you as I did.”  
Dany’s guard returned with some wine and goblets, laying then down on the table and taking his place with the other guards.  
Dany said something to him, Jon assumed she was thanking him, then poured some wine into her goblet. She pushed the jug closer to him, as if in offering, then stared back over the cliff.  
“You changed the things you regretted,” he said.  
She nodded, but gave no other answer, drinking her wine.  
“Did you know how fiercely Lord Tarly would follow you? Is that why you didn’t burn him?”  
“No. I never expected that at all. In that life, when I was thanking Samwell Tarly for saving Ser Jorah, I had to tell him...and his face just seemed to crumble. I didn’t want to break his heart after he saved my dearest friend.”  
“Why didn’t you mention the provisions you’d brought, the first time Sansa brought it up?”  
“I was too angry. And too shocked by her behavior. It seems to me a leader should speak privately about those matters, instead of having a tantrum in front of her people. And the first time, I hadn’t been able to bring nearly as much. I’d lost Dorne and the Reach by then.”  
“You regretted being with me on the ship.”  
She glanced at him. “It didn’t help the North see me as an ally.”  
“But we...”  
She stiffened. “I know what we did.”  
“You regretted it.”  
“It was dangerous for me.”  
“Dangerous?”  
“I would be yours again. Crying and begging for the crumbs of your love.”  
He winced. “You laid with me anyway.”  
“It was less dangerous by then.” Her voice was getting tense.  
“You didn’t love me anymore.”  
“I did, but the time was past.”  
“What time?”  
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”  
“It matters, Dany. I know you don’t owe me anything. You don’t owe me an explanation. But...if I could change a million things about that life, the time we spent on that ship would be one thing I wouldn’t.”  
“You would if you...” she stopped, and a single tear streaked her face.  
“If I what? Was murdered? By you? No. Even if I thought I might be killed by you later, I would have chosen to have that time.”  
“So easy to say,” she said.   
“Aye, it’s easy to say. Dany...can you tell me why? You don’t have to. And I’m sorry for even asking. But it’s one of the few things in that life I don’t regret.”  
“You wouldn’t regret it, because it’s only you, you have to worry about.”  
“Only me?” He repeated. She was trembling, he realized. “Dany...”  
“Jon, I was pregnant,” she said, and more tears fell from her shimmering eyes. She wiped at them impatiently, and Jon was staring at her. He reached for her and she pushed his hand away. “Don’t,” she warned.  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”  
“When would I have told you?” She stormed then, turning to him. “When you were avoiding me at Winterfell? When the man who killed my father showed up, and announced that Cersei had betrayed us, and I lost my dragon for nothing? Viserion died for nothing, and my enemies were building their forces, just as I feared. But I stayed at Winterfell anyway, instead of rushing back to plan my defense. And you walked away from the table and didn’t even try to see if I was all right. Should I have chased you down to tell you? Or maybe when you told me you had a higher claim to the throne I’d spent years building toward? While we were fighting the army of the dead? The night of the celebration, when I was ignored by everyone? Including you? When I came to you and begged you not to tell anyone, and you ignored me and rejected me? The minute you showed how you felt about our relationship, I knew how you felt about me. How you would feel about our child.”  
Jon dropped his head into his hands. Then horror filled him.  
“Dany...were you pregnant...when I...?”  
She nodded. Her arms were wrapped around herself again.   
“I didn’t know what would happen this time,” she said softly. “I didn’t know if I could stop it...I didn’t want to have the joy of thinking maybe the curse was broken. That we would have a child. Just to have a knife put in me.” She took a deep breath, that turned into another shudder as she exhaled. “I wanted to tell you, but there was no right time. That day, when you kissed me, really kissed me, I was going to tell you.”  
“But I killed you.”  
She nodded.  
“Gods, Dany, I’m sorry-“  
“I’m sorry too.” She lifted her goblet. “And now it’s done. No babe, no burned city. At least not by me.”  
They sat in silence for a few minutes.   
“I love you,” Jon said. “Maybe you don’t believe me. But I love you.”  
“And I love you. It’s a good place to start,” Dany said softly. “We could maybe...have something. If you’re willing. You’re my only blood relation. I’d like to have some kind of relationship with you.”  
“But you don’t want to be with me now.”  
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve learned that well enough. I...” she shivered again. “I’m not well, Jon. I have to do as much as I can to make the world I want to see, before...before it’s over. I don’t have the luxury of time.”  
Jon shuddered now. Even the idea of her dying was unbearable.  
“Kinvara said-“  
“No.”  
“Dany...I could trade my life for yours, she said it would be a proper exchange-“  
“No,” she repeated.   
“I can’t just stand by and-“  
“The Tyrells are trying to find some way to heal the damage. But if not...I’ve never harmed innocents. Only that one time, and it was far too many. I won’t do it again, for any reason.”  
“If you die, all your work-“  
“I believe my work will be carried on,” she said, and he could see sadness in her face. “If you would, I want you to spend some time with my dragons. Rhaegal loves you. If you could let them know you, then maybe when I’m gone they won’t feel so lost.”  
“They’ll feel lost if they lose you. You’re their mother.”  
She winced, nodding. “I know. But I mean...”  
“I know what you mean.”  
“There will be young ones. I’d prefer you keep this private, but I know well that you’ll tell your family. Kindly warn them that it would be unwise to approach Viserion and the eggs.”  
“Eggs?”   
“There are six eggs.”  
Jon stared at her, his heart hammering. “And there will be baby dragons.”  
She smiled. “Yes. I hope they don’t come too late. I hope I’m still here when it happens. They’re so sweet when they’re babies. Even if I won’t be there long, I want to know them. I want them to know me.”  
“They will,” Jon said. If I have to burn myself to save you, he thought. “Why don’t you want anyone to know?”  
“They’ll be vulnerable. I don’t want them harmed.”  
He nodded. “I won’t tell anyone. I give you my word.”  
She glanced at him, and he saw gratitude there. “Thank you.” She reached across the table and took his hand. “I want to be close to you. At least while you’re here, in Kings Landing, I want to try.”  
“I want that, too,” Jon said, fervently.   
She nodded, smiling. “Good.”

*******************************

Daenerys was sitting on a chair in a dusty room she had found while exploring the Keep. She had several boxes and crates in front of her, and she was poring through them. She’d found such interesting things here. Strange little statues, a carved wooden box full of cyvasse pieces. Lord Willas had joined her, fascinated by the items in the room as well. Old letters, a diary of some long forgotten squire.   
She didn’t expect to find anything of tradable value, but many of these items were priceless to her.   
Lord Willas was also sitting on a chair, looking through a box of records.  
She watched him fondly, and smiled as she opened box after box. Some had papers. Some had books. One contained a banner, her own family banner, old and slightly tattered at the edges, and when she pulled it from the box, it sent dust everywhere, making her and Lord Willas sneeze.  
They both laughed, and went back to the boxes.   
She was glad she’d spoken with Jon. She’d wanted so much to fall into his arms. To tell him she loved him and just give herself to him. But she knew she couldn’t. She knew he would always choose his family over her, and it wasn’t a fair choice, it wasn’t a choice he should have to make.  
But she knew that if she ever did marry again, she would want to be her husband’s first priority.  
She shook these thoughts from her head.   
She would be meeting with all of the lords and ladies in another few hours, and she wanted to enjoy this little interlude, digging through old lost items and books.  
She’d enjoyed walking through the Keep. She’d found great dragon skulls on one of her adventures, and it made her feel close to her ancestors. They’d once adorned the throne room, and she toyed with the idea of moving them back.   
She’d found this room today, and had been eager to begin looking through the boxes and tomes.   
Lord Willas had laughed and told her they only had an hour or two, but would return to look through the treasures.   
She lifted another wooden box and opened it, and gasped.   
It was a crown. She lifted it carefully. It was not gold or silver, and there were no gems, which explained of course why it was still there, and not melted down and sold. It was made of hammered bronze, and had some kind of runes carved into it, and then nine spikes of iron around it, pointed upward, shaped like longswords.   
“Look at this,” she said breathlessly to Willas.   
He studied it, and his eyes grew wide.   
“Do you know what that is?” He asked.  
“It’s a crown.”  
“It’s the Crown of Winter. The crown Torrhen Stark surrendered to your ancestor Aegon.”  
Dany ran her fingers lightly over the crown.   
“I suppose I was meant to find it today,” she said, smiling.  
“You’re going to give that crown to Jon Snow.”  
“Of course. It’s his.” She lowered it into her lap. “When I was a girl, my brother and I had to sell everything we owned. The day he had to sell our mother’s crown...In a way, that’s the day I lost him. He used to love to hold it. To remember her. And once it was gone, it took the last of his joy with it.”  
“I’m sorry,” Willas said, his eyes tender.  
“Thank you, Lord Willas,” she said, smiling at him. “I am so happy we found this. We can return Torrhen Stark’s crown to his descendants.”  
“This will not make them more likely to bend the knee to you,” Lord Willas warned. “The opposite, maybe. They might think it’s a sign for them to be independent.”  
Dany nodded. “I know. And I’ll admit I would prefer to have the Seven Kingdoms united. At least during this time of upheaval. But it’s their decision. They want independence.”  
She stood. “I’ll have to meet with them separately to present this to them. I don’t want the lords of the other kingdoms to feel as if I’m giving the North special treatment.”  
Lord Willas approached her, offering his arm to her, and she took it gratefully.   
“We’d best get all this dust off, if we are to meet with all the lords and ladies of the realm,” he told her, and she laughed again.  
“Maybe we should have put this off. Still, I can’t help but feel as if some destiny is at work, now that we found this.”  
“Have you given any thought to your own crown?”  
She glanced at him, surprised. “It’s almost all I’ve been able to think about.”  
Now Lord Willas laughed. “I meant a physical crown. What they’ll put on your head at your coronation.”  
“Oh.” She frowned. “No. I’ve never worn a crown.”  
“Do you intend to?”  
“I suppose I must. For a coronation I’ll need one.”  
“What would you like?”  
“Most of my jewelry is silver or bronze. All my dragon jewelry is silver. My mother’s ring is silver. It would be silver, I imagine. I don’t want anything too extravagant. People will be hungry and we will all be trying to rebuild. I don’t want to be flaunting something expensive.” She grinned then. “For now.”  
“I will have one made for you.”  
“Lord Willas, you’ve done far too much for me-“  
“I want to. If you’ll allow me. It would be an honor.”  
He walked her to her room, and she stared at her image in the mirror. Her face and dress were covered in dust, and something had caught at her hem, snagging it and making a tear. She started to laugh then.   
She chose another dress, also in her family’s colors, red and black, still laughing at herself. She washed her face, changed her dress, and stood again before the mirror.  
I am the blood of the dragon, she reminded herself. I must be strong.   
She had to push back the thoughts that threatened, of the children in the North, the problems they would face.   
And not only them, she reminded herself. Any kingdom that did not swear fealty to her.  
She had to wrap her heart in fire, wrap it in ice. Wrap it in iron like the throne she’d won.

As she walked, she heard Tyrion’s voice.   
“Your Grace,” he was calling.  
She turned to him, and smiled.   
“Lord Tyrion.”  
“I...” he broke off. “I wanted to apologize. For the ravens, for writing to my brother...for everything. I’m so sorry.”  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”  
“I just...Varys has kept so many of my confidences. And you were not well. I didn’t want to upset you. But when you left like that, I couldn’t stop thinking...that you would die. You would die and it was my fault.”  
Dany could see his hands trembling, and he pushed them into his pockets, seeing her gaze.  
“We’ll talk more later,” she promised. “As you can see, I’m alive. But this absolutely cannot happen again.”  
“It won’t. I swear it.”  
She nodded, turned then to walk toward the hall.

*****************************

Jon entered the large hall, which was dominated by an enormous, wide oval table.   
Chairs were assembled around the table, and above them, the banners of the Great Houses. This appeared to be a guide for where the lords and ladies should sit. At the head of the table, was a great Targaryen banner, beside which were the banners of Houses Tyrell, Tarly, Mormont, Martell, Greyjoy.  
The families of her small council, Jon thought. He sat down, and noted a small sealed scroll in front of him. A few of the other chairs had similar scrolls.   
As the room filled, people greeted each other. They were excited and nervous, Jon noted. Some hadn’t seen each other in years, some had never met at all.  
Gendry seemed a bit confused as to where he ought to sit, and Jon saw Arya point to the chair with the Baratheon banner over it. Gendry looked at it for a moment, as if in awe.  
Of course, Jon thought. Growing up, this had been the banner of the King. And now it was his.   
Jaime and Tyrion sat comfortably under their Lannister banner.   
Jon, Arya, Sansa and Bran sat in front of the Stark banner.  
Varys, and a few others, sat in chairs with no banners. Varys looked nervous.   
Jon looked again at the seal on the scroll in front of him. The red Targaryen sigil. Her sigil.  
My sigil too, he thought. But he could only truly consider it hers.   
As the lords and ladies sat, and began to grow quiet, Daenerys entered with her small council and guards.  
Jon knew he was staring at her, and didn’t care. Everyone was.  
She’s beautiful, Jon thought. Her silvery hair in its braids, her dress, black with red embroidery, some silken material that looked smooth and soft. Her face, that exquisite face.   
He’d noticed before, many times, how her presence altered the energy of a room, and it had never been so apparent as now.   
As she stood at her chair, the lords and ladies stood, and when she sat, they sat as well. She wore no crown, but anyone could see she was the queen.   
Missandei recited her litany of titles, and sat beside her.  
Daenerys’ expression was smooth, almost without emotion, save for a faint smile.  
He remembered suddenly a time when he’d believed her to be invulnerable. She was small, but that was easily forgotten when faced with her bearing.  
He’d forgotten, after she’d been poisoned, after she’d been hit by falling bricks, after she’d lain in bed seized by fever, after she’d stood with her broken heart in her eyes, telling him to go home.  
But this smooth, undaunted little queen was the one he’d met at Dragonstone.   
He felt his blood, pounding in his veins, as this regal creature reconciled in his mind, with the warrior who had stood on her dragon to rain down arrows, and the woman who had trembled naked beneath him. And his heart broke again as he thought of her face, tear stained, as she told him about the child she’d lost along with her life when he’d stabbed her. And somewhere deep within her, he knew, was the empty eyed killer who had rained fire on a city.  
“Thank you all for coming,” she said, snapping him out of his reverie. “I know this was an arduous journey, and with winter upon us, I know too that you are all eager to get back to your homes, so I will try to have our council move as quickly as possible. Some of you will note that I’ve left scrolls before your seats. Tycho Nestoris, a representative from the Iron Bank, has graciously provided the totals of all the kingdoms’ debts to the Iron Bank. He will be staying here as my guest. Those of you who choose to have your kingdoms remain independent, may meet with him to discuss the terms of repayment.”  
“We can’t pay any debts right now,” Sansa interjected, and Jon glared at her.  
Daenerys’ face didn’t change. “You may discuss that with him, Lady Sansa.”  
“How do we even know this is the debt from the North?” She demanded, tapping the scroll.  
“Again, that’s between you and him.” She paused, as if waiting for Sansa to say something else, then continued. “For those of you who swear fealty to me in perpetuity, the crown will absorb this debt. And for those who do so for the duration of the winter and rebuilding of the realm, we will discuss terms such as repayment and taxes. The crown will make payments to the bank on your behalf during this time. Some of you have been kind enough to provide information on your stores. I thank-“  
“So you’re going to make us pay this debt to get back at us for wanting independence,” Sansa said coldly, her voice snapping with rage.  
Daenerys’ expression didn’t falter, but Jon knew her face as well as his own; better, really.  
She was losing patience. So was he.  
“Lady Sansa, everyone here is tired, and we all have things we must figure out. Would you prefer a private audience?” Daenerys asked her. Her voice was not harsh, which made her words colder. More dangerous.   
Sansa glared at her. “I don’t think we should be hit with debt when we weren’t the ones who borrowed it in the first place.”  
Daenerys sighed, a light, soft sound. Almost gentle. “In the event that Lady Sansa is not the only one who is not aware of how the Iron Bank collects debts, I’ll take a moment to explain it.  
Since the crown’s debt is by far the largest, and my own responsibility, I will use that as my example. Cersei Lannister, and Robert Baratheon before her, as well as their sons, incurred a rather enormous debt with the Iron Bank. These debts are considered to be the crown’s debts. As I have now won that crown, I am expected to make these payments. The fact that I myself have never borrowed from the Iron Bank is irrelevant.”  
“That doesn’t seem fair at all,” Gendry offered. Daenerys smiled at him, and Jon knew it was a genuine smile, and he remembered her mentioning that they were kin, through Gendry’s great grandmother.   
He’s my kin too, then, Jon thought.  
“Unfair it may be, but it’s the consequences of taking a crown that is indebted to the Iron Bank.”  
Her smile faded from her eyes but stayed pleasantly on her mouth as she addressed the room. “Most of the kingdoms do not have anywhere near the debt that the crown has, so that may be some consolation.”  
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Gendry said. “But what does absorb mean?” At her surprise, he flushed. “I mean...I know what absorb means. Just...you said the crown would absorb the debt, for kingdoms that swear fealty. I’m not sure what...” he was blushing furiously now. “What you mean by that.”  
“It means that I’ll pay it,” she said.  
“Oh.” Gendry looked visibly relieved, turning the scroll over in his hands. “But...That’s not really fair to you, is it?”  
“Let me worry about that. Does anyone else have any questions?” The room was quiet, but Jon could almost feel the daggers from Sansa’s eyes, aimed at Daenerys. If Dany noticed, she gave no indication. “Some of you have included the information regarding your stores. I want to thank you for that, as it will be crucial in figuring out who will be needing aid and also who is in a position to pay taxes. Most of the kingdoms will not be able to do so for some time.”  
She turned then to the topic of independence and Jon felt a knot forming in his stomach.  
Ellaria Sand explained that there was some dispute in her family over an heir, but once it was settled, they would declare fealty. Yara Greyjoy said she would declare fealty for the period of rebuilding and they would revisit the subject in one year’s time. Gendry looked surprised she’d even asked him, and then promised fealty. Lady Olenna laughed outright.   
“Need you ask?” She said, and promised fealty, “though with my old bones and Willas’ leg, you understand any knee bending will have to be symbolic.”  
A smile tugged at the corners of Dany’s mouth and Jon could see again that it was a true smile.   
Jaime too promised fealty and asked if Dany would consider legitimizing his daughter.  
She promised she would after her coronation, when she would truly have power to do so.  
Of course, Sansa decided it was a good time to state that the Riverlands and the Vale were kinsman to the Starks, and should swear fealty to the North, which led to a slight argument between her Uncle Edmure, Lord Royce, and herself, with Robin Arryn jumping in here and there.   
Dany watched them arguing, and finally interrupted.  
“Why don’t you settle this among yourselves, and then we can meet again?” She suggested. “Lords Tarly and Hightower have kindly agreed to throw us a feast. We can retire and then feast, and you can come to a decision.”  
“You can throw a feast but you’re sticking us with a debt,” Sansa snapped bitterly.  
“You are a disrespectful young woman,” Randyll Tarly exploded now.   
“If it weren’t for the North fighting the army of the dead, all of Westeros would be corpses right now!” Sansa raged. “The realm owes us! You should all be down on your-“  
“Did you say army of the dead?” Edmure interrupted, frowning.   
“I seem to remember you hiding during that battle,” Tarly snapped at Sansa. “While the queen was out fighting on the field. And if it weren’t for her, you’d have been attacked in the crypts.”  
Sansa opened her mouth to argue, and Jon turned to her. “That’s enough,” he told her fiercely.  
She turned to him, and he didn’t know what she saw in his face, but she grew quiet.   
Varys stood then. “Your Grace. I want to apologize for what I did.”  
She turned to him. “We will speak of it alone, Lord Varys. We can have a separate meeting so we may discuss this in detail,” she told him.   
She stood then, to address the room. “We will all go over any further details privately, with my own advisors and yours.”  
She nodded at them and then turned to leave.  
Jon wanted to follow her, but thought better of it.   
He turned to Sansa. “I need a word with you,” he told her. 

“What in seven hells were you thinking?” He thundered once he was alone in Sansa’s solar with his siblings.   
“You don’t think she’s doing this with the debt to get back at us?” Sansa demanded.  
“Maybe she’s just not an idiot,” Arya suggested.   
Sansa turned to her. “You’re taking her side?”  
“It’s not about sides, Sansa. You’re my sister, you know I’m on yours. But she’s not wrong. There’s no reason for her to pay the North’s debt,” Arya said. “Not if you want to be independent. It doesn’t make sense.”  
“She was going to,” Bran said softly. “She thought about it. She felt the realm’s debt should be on her, since she won the crown.”  
“So she decided not to, out of spite,” Sansa said triumphantly.  
“No. The Tyrells told her it would be foolish.”  
“And it would be,” Arya said.   
“Sansa, whether you like it or not, she’s the queen,” Jon said. “And she’s not even trying to take our independence, not that it’s going to be worth a damn if we all starve. You made us all look like fools, you know that, don’t you?”  
“No more than you did, going to her to ask her for help against the army of the dead, offering nothing in return.”  
“Aye, but I wasn’t disrespecting her at her own council meeting. And Gods, Sansa. How could you even bring up that battle, as if she owes the North? Did you forget what she did?”   
“Nobody forgot, Jon.”  
“Quite a few people at that council fought in that battle. They know what she did. Southern lords helped us, at her request. Do you have any idea how ungrateful and ridiculous you sounded?”  
“I think she’s doing this to crush us and force us to submit to her.”  
Jon sighed. “Sansa...if she wanted to crush us and force us to submit, she could. Easily.”  
“And then everyone would see her as a monster. This way, she just looks like she’s being practical.”  
“She is being practical,” Arya said.  
“You’re all going to corner me now?”   
Jon turned away from her, his hands shaking with anger. He remembered them cornering him the same way in that other life.  
“You don’t know her,” he’d pleaded with them.  
“I’ll never know her,” Arya had responded. “She’s not one of us.”  
And instead of standing up for her, instead of trying to make them understand, he’d told them the one thing she’d begged him not to.   
Please don’t do this, her voice, heavy with tears, haunted his mind.   
“Sansa,” he finally said. “If you do something like that again, we’re finished. Do you understand? She hasn’t even been crowned yet. She will have most of the realm bending the knee at her coronation. If you disrespect her, and she lets you get away with it, others will too. I know it. She knows it. You know it. Do not do that again.”  
He started to leave, when Bran called out, “you may as well stay. She knows we’re here, and she has something for you.”  
Jon studied him. “What is it?”  
“Something she found here at the Red Keep.”  
Jon sat down.  
“I’d rather everyone leave me alone, honestly, and I certainly don’t want to see her,” Sansa said.   
“What has she ever done to you, Sansa?”  
“She’s saddling us with-“   
“She isn’t saddling us with anything. It’s the North’s own debt.”  
“You defend her because you love her.”  
“Aye. I love her. And I’m sick of you trying to undermine her, Sansa. She’s never done a single thing to you, or to anyone in the North, that should warrant disrespecting her. She’s done everything to earn our respect, and it’s a mark on you if you can’t treat her with the respect she deserves.”  
Sansa glared at him, and he returned the glare. He’d allowed Dany to be treated like an enemy in that other life. Had let her fall apart, let her bear the weight of everything on her own. He would never allow it again. If he had to abandon Sansa, abandon the entire North. He would defend Dany until his dying breath.


	24. Chapter Twenty Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this chapter is so late!!!!   
I was working and studying and then Halloween is like a high holy day in my house. I’m going to TRY to have another update tomorrow to make up for it!   
As always, thank you all so much for your comments, you are all so amazing!

Chapter Twenty Four

Sansa had seen Jon angry before. He’d beaten Ramsay until his face was drenched in blood. She remembered it well, the blaze of incendiary rage. This, however, was a cold fury she’d never seen in him. He had said that he would be finished with her if she ‘undermined’ Daenerys again.  
They sat in silence now, Jon and Sansa consumed by their anger, Arya sitting with Bran, waiting for one of them to speak. Bran, as always, was unaffected.  
“I wasn’t trying to undermine her,” Sansa finally said.  
“What do you think it does, to disrespect her like that, at her council? She doesn’t have to sit there and accept it, Sansa. And she needs the lords of Westeros to respect her. If she allows you to treat her that way, especially after her help in the Great War, she will never be able to command the respect of the other lords. You’re fortunate she didn’t have you arrested on the spot.”  
“And you would just let her arrest me,” Sansa said bitterly.   
“What would you have me do? Go to war with her? What do you think would happen? She could destroy our armies with ease. Hundreds of lives, Sansa, because you refuse to present yourself with dignity at a council. What’s more, is that our men respect her. She earned that respect. Not because of her father. Despite her father. They won’t want to raise arms against her, and if they do, we don’t stand a chance in a war against her.”  
Sansa looked back at Arya, whose face showed clear distress.   
“What do you think?” Sansa asked her.  
“You know I wouldn’t let anyone harm you,” Arya said. “But Jon’s right. You were intentionally provoking her. She’s not trying to force us into submission. She said she’ll let the North be independent. But independence means solving our own problems. Paying our own debts. You want it or you don’t.”  
Sansa sighed. “How much is the debt?”  
Jon handed her the scroll.  
She looked at it and shuddered. It wasn’t enormous, but they did not have the resources to pay it.   
“Part of this debt is from the Nights Watch,” she said. “That’s not only the North’s responsibility.”  
Jon sighed. “That makes it my responsibility.”  
“Why? Just because you were in the Nights Watch?”  
“I wasn’t just in the Nights Watch, Sansa. I was the Lord Commander.”  
“The Nights Watch is the entire realm’s responsibility, not only the North’s.”  
Jon didn’t answer her. He stood up and walked to the window, looking out.   
“And you think she would be in her rights to arrest me? Just because I didn’t show her deference?”  
“She’s the queen, Sansa. When I was Lord Commander, I beheaded a man for refusing to follow an order. No trial. No questions. He refused to follow the order, and I beheaded him.”  
Sansa stared at him in horror. “You beheaded him for not following an order?”  
“Aye. And Daenerys has been more than patient. With you, with Lord Tyrion, with Lord Varys. She can’t keep allowing people to undermine her. Even if we decide on independence, which I’m telling you, Sansa, is suicide right now, we are in her capitol. You need to get this idea out of your head, that she’s just some woman who brings out your competitive streak. She’s a queen. She’s THE queen. She has three dragons. And she has armies of her own, and most of the kingdoms behind her. Our own armies are alive because of her. We are alive because of her.”  
Sansa lowered her head, staring at her hands. “We won our independence,” she said doggedly.  
“From the Boltons,” Jon said. “Not from her. And we don’t have to win it from her. She’s willing to uphold it. But we can’t expect her to-“  
A knock at the door interrupted him, and Sansa snapped, “come in.”  
Daenerys entered, holding a large wooden box, and Sansa tried not to seethe.  
Jon turned to Daenerys. “On behalf of the North, I want to apologize for Lady Sansa’s conduct.”  
“You don’t have to apologize for me. I’m not a child.”  
“If you act like a child, you’ll have to be treated like a child,” Jon responded coldly.  
“How dare you! I was just standing up for-“  
“Stop it,” Daenerys commanded, her voice such steel that Sansa fell silent despite herself. Daenerys turned to Jon. “Lady Sansa is right. If there are apologies to be made, she can make them. We will talk about this,” she said warningly, and Sansa felt a chill down her spine. “But that’s not what I came here for.”  
“Why did you come here then?” Sansa asked.  
Daenerys sat down and laid the box she held onto the table. “I found this. Today, in one of the storage rooms here in the Keep. It’s yours,” she told Jon. Arya stepped closer, her eyes bright with curiosity, and Bran watched from the fireplace, with an expression that was almost a smile.  
Daenerys reached into the box and removed a crown.   
It looked familiar to Sansa, she thought she’d seen it in a book long ago.   
“This was Torrhen Stark’s crown,” Daenerys said, handing it to Jon.   
“It’s the Crown of Winter,” Bran added. “The crown Torrhen Stark surrendered to Aegon Targaryen.”  
“How perfect that I should find it today,” Daenerys said, smiling. “So I could return it to your family.”  
Jon was holding the crown, his eyes going back and forth between it and Daenerys’ face.   
His hands were shaking slightly, and Sansa could not gauge the expression on his face.  
Arya was staring at the crown as if in disbelief, then she too looked at Daenerys, and Sansa could see something dangerously close to affection on Arya’s face.  
Sansa had to admit she felt a surge of affection for the woman as well. This was Sansa’s family’s crown, long ago surrendered, now given back to them.  
But something, almost a poison in her, resisted.  
Why would Daenerys give this crown back to them?  
Sometimes when I try to understand a person’s motives I play a little game, she thought.   
“Why are you giving it back to us?” Sansa asked her.  
Daenerys turned to her. “It’s yours,” she said simply. “It’s your family’s. I felt like it must be destiny, that I found it today. My ancestor took it from you. How perfect is it, that I should be given the opportunity to return it to you?”  
“Thank you, Dany,” Jon said. His voice sounded thick.  
She nodded, and stood. “Well, that was really all I-“  
“Thank you,” Arya said suddenly.   
Daenerys looked at her and smiled. “I’m happy I was able to find it while you’re all here. You are absolutely welcome.”  
She turned then and left the room.  
Jon sat down, still holding the crown in awe.  
“She must have some motive, Jon,” Sansa said. “Why would she just-“  
Jon stood up again, looking at her with such anger that Sansa shivered and took a step back. He put the crown into the box, and left the room without another word.  
Sansa turned to Bran. “Why did she give it back?” She demanded.  
“She found it today,” Bran said. “She told Lord Willas that she thought she was meant to find it. To give it to Jon.”  
Sansa paced anxiously. “Well, really, Jon is a Targaryen too, so-“  
“Stop it, Sansa,” Arya said. Sansa turned to her. “He’s our brother.”  
“She told Lord Willas that when she was a little girl, her brother had to sell their mother’s crown,” Bran added. “That he lost all his joy that day.”  
Sansa frowned. She couldn’t help but feel compassion for that little girl, to hurt for her; it was hard to reconcile a helpless and scared child with the fierce queen Daenerys had become.  
The knot of anxiety that had formed in her belly when they’d arrived at Kings Landing was tightening.   
She looked at Arya, who was sitting again next to Bran. She looked troubled.  
“Say what’s on your mind, Arya.”  
“She didn’t have to give that crown back to us. Why are you determined to hate her?”  
“I don’t hate her. I just don’t want to bend the knee to her.”  
“Then don’t.”  
Sansa sighed. “It’s not my decision. And Jon is in love with her, he wants to just give it to her.”  
“He doesn’t want to just give it to her, Sansa. But he doesn’t want the North to starve. And he knows that the Iron Bank is dangerous.”  
“He was pushing for fealty before we knew about the Iron Bank.”  
“Because our stores are not what they need to be. Our supplies aren’t either.” Arya sighed. “I didn’t think you and Jon were being fair to each other. You both had valid arguments. You for freedom, and Jon for survival. But now it just looks like you want the North to be independent even if it means starvation and ruin. You’re smarter than that, Sansa. You’re better than that.”  
“I want us to be a free people. The North should be free. We’ve faced hunger and ruin before, and freedom was always our desire.”  
“Freedom from oppression is one thing. But this is not that. You know it. And either way, you can’t keep talking to her like that publicly, Sansa. She’ll have to act against you if you keep doing that. She’ll have no choice. And then we’ll be pitted against her in a war we can’t win, against someone who was willing to give the North independence. There’s no reason for it.”  
“If we swear fealty, we’ll never have independence, and we’ve wanted it for so long. We have suffered so much. And to bend the knee to a Targaryen...” she broke off.  
Jon is a Targaryen, she thought.   
“You could negotiate independence later. Didn’t you say that she wanted a temporary unity for the duration of the winter? And the recovery from the wars? You told me she said that while she was writing her will.”  
“How does someone unswear fealty? That doesn’t even make sense. It’s never been done anywhere, and it sounds ridiculous. She’s not going to give us our independence after supporting us all winter and paying the Iron Bank. That would be stupid. And like you said, she’s not an idiot.”  
“She mentioned repayment. If she supports the North through winter and pays the debt with the Iron Bank, and then you declare independence, she’ll probably want to be paid back. But I really don’t know. You should probably talk to her about it. Privately. And respectfully.”  
Sansa sighed.   
Everyone was angry at her now, and she felt small and alone.   
“So you think we should just surrender our independence,” Sansa said coldly.  
“I think that whatever you decide, there are consequences. If you swear fealty, the North will lose its independence. If you choose independence, the North will have to feed itself without help from the Southern kingdoms, and pay its own debt,” Arya said.   
“And you think freedom is a small thing,” Sansa said.   
“I don’t. I think freedom is important. But it’s not as if fealty to her would destroy the North’s freedom. She’s not planning to seize land or control religious beliefs or do anything oppressive at all. She’s not planning to impose huge taxes, most likely, especially if she’s going to feed and pay the debts of the kingdoms who swear fealty. But this is something to discuss with her. And interrupting her and accusing her of petty revenge at her own council, because she said independent kingdoms should pay their own debts, was just...” Arya shook her head. “What do you think Mother and Father would say?”  
Arya’s question cut through her like a dagger to her heart. Sansa wanted to make them proud. Surely they would understand...  
“I don’t know,” Sansa said. “But I know Father would not want us turning on each other.”  
“You asked me what I thought. I’m not turning against you. I’m telling you what I think.” Arya walked to Sansa and hugged her. “I want my family safe and happy. I don’t want to see you endanger yourself.”  
Sansa hugged her back.  
She would not allow herself to be helpless, she vowed. She would die before she would ever be powerless again.

**********************************

Jon had no right to approach Daenerys, he thought, but could not do otherwise. He had to see her.   
His anger at Sansa was overwhelming. In his entire life, he had never struck a woman.  
When he’d sat in that room, staring at the crown Daenerys had returned to his family, and Sansa had suggested that Dany had some dark motive, he had almost hit her. He could still feel the rage coursing through him, the revulsion at what she’d become.  
He had known it was dangerous to stay in that room with her.   
Everything Daenerys had said about Sansa in that other life had been right. And Jon hadn’t listened.   
This was so much more than just a crown that she’d given him, his family. It was a piece of his family’s history. What he felt was gratitude, but more than gratitude. It was love, but more than love. He had known for some time now, why so many had chosen her to be their queen. She was good, of course she was good. But he was beginning to understand now what people meant when they spoke of greatness.   
Jon found her in the dragon pit, surrounded by her magnificent children, running her fingers lightly over the shimmering eggs. He stopped as Viserion hissed at him.   
Dany saw him and smiled.   
“Come closer,” she urged. He hesitated, but she was murmuring to Viserion and that seemed to calm the dragon somewhat.   
As he approached, Rhaegal leaned toward him, nuzzling him.   
“I missed you, too” Jon told him, reaching up to stroke his green scales.  
He sat down beside Daenerys and looked at the eggs.   
“They’re beautiful.”  
She beamed at him. “They are,” she said.  
“I wanted to apologize again for Sansa.”  
“She can apologize for herself,” Dany said.  
“She will,” Jon said.   
“Jon, she can’t keep disrespecting me in front of people. She did it in the North, and that set an example for how others treated me. That was your kingdom, and I already expected it. But at a council in my own Keep-“  
“I know.”  
“When I was poisoned, she was kind to me. She came into my room and read to me.”  
Jon looked at her, surprised. “Did she?”  
“She did. And that day, when it happened, she tried to warn me. She was too late. But she tried. I don’t want to harm her or humiliate her. I hope you know that. I hope she knows that. But Jon, I can’t keep allowing her to speak to me in such a manner in front of people. I don’t like to spend too much energy on the opinions of other people, but this is a crucial time. If I allow her to disrespect me, it’s only a matter of time before others do as well.”  
Jon nodded. “I can’t understand what’s happening with her. But it won’t happen again.”  
She sighed. “You can’t make promises for the behavior of others. But if it does happen again, I must take action.”  
“You’ll arrest her.”  
“No. I will have her removed from the Keep and I will not allow her back.”  
“Dany, I wanted to thank you again. For giving us Torrhen Stark’s crown. The words don’t do justice...I don’t even know what to say.”  
She smiled again. “Wear it in good health, King in the North,” she told him. Then her smile faded, and she stood. “I should probably go in. You said you found Qyburn?”  
“Yes. Or, rather, he turned himself over to us. He brought Ser Jaime’s daughter to Winterfell.”  
She nodded, and started to walk back to the castle.   
Jon walked with her. She’s more than I deserved, he thought. And she could have been mine.   
“I’m sorry we left it to you to decide. Ser Jaime and Lady Meera Reed started defending him.”  
“Defending him?”  
“He saved Ser Jaime’s life when he had his hand cut off. And then he saved Lady Meera’s friend. He rescued the babe, and he told us that she came too soon. She would have died along with Cersei. But then, of course, he set off the wildfire. We were unsure what to do, but then Sansa pointed out that he committed the crime in Kings Landing...I hated to put that on you, but...it’s your decision.”  
She sighed. “I can’t focus on preparations for a feast while a man awaits his trial. Whatever he’s done, it just feels wrong. We should at least speak with him.”  
Jon nodded. “I don’t think he’s going to try to claim innocence. He admitted to it. He wants to argue why he did it.” Jon was studying her face. She was pale, and he ached for her. “I know this is hard for you. Burning the city...”  
She glanced at him. “Because I did the same thing?”  
“Well...yes.”  
“What I did was worse. The city was evacuated when Qyburn did it. There were very few civilians. I did it to a crowded city, and I targeted civilians.”  
“You didn’t really do it.”  
“I didn’t do it in this life. But I did it. It was quite real at the time.” She sighed heavily. “I have to call in the soldiers and lords who are present now, who were here at the time. I hate to make them relive it. If they don’t want to be at the inquest, they don’t have to. It was so horrible...” she broke off and shuddered. “How much worse it must have been when I did it. All those people...”  
“All those people are alive now. And that’s because of you. Because you got them out of the city. And they’re happy. Fed. Safe. Because of you.” He caught her shoulders, gently turning her to look into her face. “You know that, right? What you did for them?”  
She nodded, but he could see sadness in her face. He wished he could take it away somehow.   
“I’d best get started. Are you up to it?”  
“Me?”  
“You were there.”  
“I’m up to it,” Jon assured her.

*******************************

Tyrion had decided to take a walk through Kings Landing. Varys and Ser Davos had joined him. The areas that had been destroyed were cleared of debris and being rebuilt. Daenerys had followed through on her plan for a controlled demolition of Flea Bottom, and it had been leveled.  
People all around the city were rebuilding, or selling food and supplies. Groups of children were learning how to read, and to Tyrion’s surprise, some were learning swordplay.   
He’d stopped before an area where massive foundations were being laid, and he asked one of the men what it was going to be.  
“The queen is having us build an aqueduct here,” the builder explained. “For clean water.”  
Tyrion stared at him for a moment, then turned to his companions. “No wonder she can’t pay the debts of independent kingdoms,” he mused.  
“And nor should she,” Ser Davos said.  
“Indeed,” Varys concurred, and Tyrion saw longing in his face.  
“What is it?” He asked as they began to walk once more.  
“An aqueduct,” Varys said. “A library. These people...these are the ones I’ve wanted to serve, and look at them. I don’t think I’ve seen them so full of hope in...maybe ever.”  
“You don’t look particularly happy, old friend,” Tyrion said.   
“I am happy. For them. I just...all my life, this was the kind of ruler I wanted to serve. The kind of ruler I had all but lost hope to find. And now I’ve ruined the opportunity to serve her.”  
“You can still serve her,” Ser Davos offered. “She likely won’t have you on her small council, but that doesn’t mean you need to stop serving her.”  
“I realize that. Of course. But I’ve closely served terrible rulers. Incompetent rulers. Rulers who cared for themselves and no one else. I’ve done things in service to kings, that will haunt me forever. I always longed to serve a ruler worthy of the title. A ruler who cares for the people. And I defied her order, almost caused the deaths of several lords and their armies, and my own queen, as well as the King in the North, who happens to be the only other ruler worthy of the title. I’ve heard many of the soldiers did die. She’ll never have me on her council now, and I’m fortunate she hasn’t executed me.”  
Tyrion sighed heavily. “I’m in a similar situation.”  
“Didn’t she have you stay in the Tower of the Hand?” Varys asked.  
“Yes. But we haven’t truly spoken yet. And the truth is, I miss her. I miss her friendship. Just sitting with her and planning. Her idealism. Her ideas. Her.”  
Varys nodded sympathetically.   
They walked on silently.   
“I’m going to ask if she’ll see me,” Tyrion said as they approached the Keep.   
“Would you mind if I join you?” Varys asked. “I’d like to see her as well. To apologize to her.”  
As they entered the castle, Ser Davos said he would go see how Jon was feeling after his talk with Sansa.  
Tyrion nodded in understanding, and they started toward Daenerys’ room, but guards stood before the hallway.   
“I’d like to see the queen,” Tyrion began. “If she’s willing. And...not busy.”  
“She’s getting ready to see Qyburn. They’re gathering in the throne room.”  
Tyrion glanced at Varys, then hurried toward the throne room.

************************

Daenerys was anxious.  
She sat on the throne, and waited for the guards to bring Qyburn. Most of the lords and soldiers who had been in Kings Landing had agreed to attend.   
When the guards finally brought the man in, Daenerys took a deep breath to steady herself.   
Missandei announced her titles and Qyburn bowed respectfully, to Dany’s surprise.  
“You stand accused of intentionally detonating wildfire in Kings Landing, knowingly endangering the armies of several kingdoms, their lords, and the Unsullied, as well as the King in the North,” she said, her voice clear and, to her relief, steady. “How do you answer these charges?”  
“I’m guilty, Your Grace,” Qyburn said. “But if it would be acceptable to you, I’d like to present my position.”  
“Go ahead.”  
“We were at war. I realize with my queen’s death, the war may have seemed over from your perspective. But I was her Hand. Her daughter’s regent. I knew you had evacuated the city, and there were no civilians left there.”  
“There were,” Dany said. “And there were twelve children in the city.”  
To the man’s credit, he looked horrified. “Children? Are you sure? I thought there was no one left.”  
“I’m sure.”  
Qyburn shuddered. “I did not intend that,” he said, his voice low. “Did the children...” he swallowed. “Did they perish?”  
“No. We were able to rescue all twelve of them.”  
Qyburn’s shoulders sagged a little, and he murmured, “thank you, Your Grace.”  
Daenerys gave a brief nod.  
At least he didn’t want to harm children, she thought. A flash of memory cut through her mind, the screaming of people as they ran, terrified, under her firestorm.  
“You understand that Cersei’s own army was in the city as well?” She asked him.  
“Yes. It was regrettable. It was all regrettable. I wanted to avenge her. And again, it was a war. I didn’t see it as any different from what you had done on the Goldroad, or what Lord Tyrion had done on the Blackwater. And I thought...I know how this will sound to you. But I thought with all the armies gone, there would be peace. I was also stricken with grief over Queen Cersei. I know you all hated her. But she was my queen. And I loved her. She understood my work. She accepted it. No one else I’ve ever known understood it as she did. Maybe you can imagine what it is, to lose the one person in the world who understands you. I realize this doesn’t sound like a proper explanation. But it all made sense to me at the time.”  
Daenerys was pressing her hands against the arms of the throne. They would have trembled otherwise.   
Qyburn had spoken with Tyrion outside the Keep, in that other life, as Missandei’s life had hung in the balance.   
Yes, Daenerys thought, I can imagine what it is to lose that one person. Or rather, I remember.  
“I have no other defense,” Qyburn continued. “Only that I was stricken over her death, we were at war, and I thought the city had been cleared of civilians.”  
Daenerys nodded.   
How can I condemn a man for doing what I did?  
But of course if he’d done what she had, she would have no choice but to condemn him. What she had done was so much worse.   
Children, Jon’s voice echoed in her head. Little children! Burned!  
“I will consider what you’ve told me, and we can meet again in two days time. There’s no need for a trial if you’re pleading guilty, but I wish to go over what you’ve said.” She turned to the guards who had brought him in. “Please make sure he’s given fresh food, and water.” She looked back at Qyburn. “Do you have anything else you wish to say?”  
“Not related to my case.”  
“All right...what is it?”  
“You’re going to die, Your Grace.”  
Daenerys felt a chill come over her, and the room was suddenly alive with the clanging of swords pulled from their sheaths, as her guards and the assembled lords brandished them and stepped toward Qyburn.   
Qyburn held up his hands. “I apologize. I didn’t mean that as a threat.”   
“How did you mean it?” Daenerys demanded, her voice hard.   
“I had wondered how you’d survived the poisoning. I even suspected maybe the assassin had been unsuccessful. But now, seeing you, I can see that he was indeed successful. No doubt you were given some antidote.”  
“That is correct,” she said tersely.   
“Not in time,” Qyburn observed.  
Daenerys narrowed her eyes. “Are you a Maester?”  
“Not anymore, Your Grace.”  
“How does one quit being a Maester?”  
“I didn’t quit. I was removed and expelled from the Citadel.”  
“You’re not helping your case,” Daenerys pointed out.   
“I realize that. Forgive me, but I find your anomalous situation quite intriguing. If you would be willing, I would very much like to speak with you privately.”  
“Privately?”  
“Your Grace, pardon my interruption, please,” Lord Tarly interjected, “but I must advise against being alone with this man.”  
“I must agree with Lord Tarly,” Daenerys said. “However, I will see you with my guards present. We can meet this evening.”  
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Qyburn bowed again and left with the Unsullied to go back to his cell.

Daenerys sat in her council chambers. She had told her advisors they would speak later about Qyburn, and now she was alone with Grey Worm and Qhono, who stood guarding her. Her head was pounding.  
The knots in her stomach had turned into pain.   
She was tired.   
She heard footsteps and glanced up. Tyrion and Varys stood at the other side of the room, looking warily at her guards.   
“It’s all right,” she said softly, and they stepped back to allow Tyrion and Varys to enter.  
“Are you well, Your Grace?” Tyrion asked, studying her face.  
“I’m tired. But yes. Come in,” she urged. “Sit.”  
They obeyed, and now were both looking at her searchingly.   
“I’ve missed you,” Tyrion ventured.  
“Likewise, Lord Tyrion.” She folded her hands. “This can never happen again. You cannot keep going behind my back and keeping secrets from me.”  
“This will never happen again. I regret my actions more than I’ve ever regretted anything. And I can assure you, my regrets are legion, Your Grace.”  
“It’s just us here, Lord Tyrion. You can call me by my name.”  
“Daenerys,” he said, his voice soft. “I never meant for you to be harmed.”  
“I understand that. And I know you love your intrigues. But I can’t have this dishonesty anymore.”  
“I know. I was wrong, I don’t know how to make it up to you.”  
“Don’t do it again. Did you wish to continue advising Lady Sansa Stark?”  
“I...if that’s your command.”  
“I don’t have the authority to choose her advisors, truly. You would have to work that out with her.”  
“You...don’t want me to advise you anymore.”  
“I do, Lord Tyrion, but-“  
“If I’m calling you Daenerys, you can just call me Tyrion,” he pointed out.  
“Tyrion. I want you to advise me. I’ve wanted that for some time. But since we arrived at Westeros, your counsel has been unreliable at best, dangerous at worst, and you’ve kept secrets from me. Important secrets.”  
“I know. I realize that. I...I see now that I was afraid for my family. I wanted you on the throne, but I wanted them alive. I expected you to be able to secure a victory without bloodshed. I expected the impossible from you. And if I hadn’t done the things I did, there would have been less bloodshed than there was. I know that. I should have come to you before I wrote to my brother. I should have warned you that Varys was intercepting the ravens.”  
“If I may speak,” Varys interjected. “I must say that Lord Tyrion did try to keep me from intercepting them. He pointed out how many times you’d been right in the past. I told him I didn’t put much weight in visions, and he said that if the advisors in the time of Daenys had that attitude, there would be no Targaryens at all. He was going to send a raven himself that day, but it was too late.”  
Daenerys looked at him, surprised, then back at Tyrion. “I appreciate your defending what I wanted to do. But you must not lie to me again, or keep information from me. If it happens again, I must strip you of your position and banish you from the Keep. You know it will hurt me to do this. Your counsel is valuable to me. And you’re my friend. But I’m feeling as if this friendship has been one sided far too often these days. And I can’t have you using our friendship to get away with treason.”  
“It will never happen again, I swear.”  
Daenerys nodded. “Good. I will reinstate you as my Hand, but you understand I have two now. This is so that you and Missandei can run ideas off one another and I can hear both of your perspectives.”  
Tyrion smiled gratefully at her. “Thank you, Your...Daenerys.”  
She nodded and turned to Varys. “Lord Varys, you saved my life with the potion from Dorne. I don’t take that lightly. But you knew Lord Tyrion had written to his brother and you didn’t tell me. I understand that you’re friends, but I can’t have that kind of dishonesty. I need to be able to trust my advisors. And intercepting my letters...thats treason. You know it is. Have you thought about what could have happened?”  
“I’ve thought of little else, Your Grace.”  
“When we met, I told you that I knew you didn’t trust me. And that I don’t trust you. Since then, it seems I’ve been doing everything I could do demonstrate that I can be trusted. And you’ve done the opposite.”  
“Yes, Your Grace.”  
“Why?”  
“I didn’t tell you Tyrion wrote to his brother, because I didn’t know yet what you would do. I feared you would burn him for treason. I have no justification for not having that potion ready when you were poisoned. As far as intercepting the ravens...I see now I was wrong. But you sounded...feverish.”  
“I was feverish.”  
“I was afraid you would sound mad, asking the armies to hold off on an easy victory. You couldn’t articulate what you thought would happen. I was afraid it would harm your credibility. And then I feared you would start bringing the people you’d evacuated back to the capitol, and they would be harmed in the crossfire when you took the city.”  
“Then you should have come to me.”  
“Yes. I should have. I wanted to protect the realm and I almost destroyed it by my actions. I told you once that the people have no better chance than you. I believed it at the time, because of all you’d done in Essos, and what was there to compare you to? I told Tyrion once that perhaps we’d grown so accustomed to horror that it was all we thought we could expect. I knew you were better than what we had before, but truly, what had we before? Your mad father. Robert, an ineffective drunk who was more concerned about his wine and whores than ruling. Joffrey was a monster. Tommen was too young, too gentle, not strong enough to rule. I think Stannis could have been a fine king but was so poisoned by Melisandre, he would have destroyed anyone who didn’t follow his god. I think Margaery Tyrell would have been a wonderful queen. But of course Cersei saw to that. And then Cersei herself. I haven’t been given any cause to trust a ruler. So I thought at first, that you were the best chance for the people, but it didn’t necessarily mean you would be a good ruler, only better than what we had. I saw that in Essos you didn’t prey on the powerless, instead lifting them out of their powerlessness. I thought you could be good, and I thought to guide you.”  
“You thought to guide me by defying my order.”  
Varys sighed. “Yes. I’ve never in all my time trusted a ruler.”  
“I need to be able to trust my advisors,” Daenerys said again.  
“This experience with you has been a revelation for me, Your Grace. You’re not perfect. But...you’re good. I saw the aqueduct you’re having built. I saw your plans for the library and for teaching the children. I’ve seen you feed people during your own siege, and then evacuate them to protect them. I have wanted such a ruler for the entirety of my time serving monarchs. There are all these ideas that people have in their minds, about serving a just ruler, a good ruler, a wise ruler. I’ve seen men die for kings and queens who were utterly unworthy of the title. For an idea. For a dream of what a ruler should be. I should have known already. I knew you’d freed slaves. I knew you’d stayed in Meereen to ensure their continued freedom. And when we came here, you postponed your conquest of the capitol to save the North, who refused to call you queen. I should have recognized what you were. And now the one thing I’ve ever truly wanted, the opportunity to serve a truly great ruler, I have lost. By my own mistrust.”  
Daenerys sighed deeply. “I can’t have you on my council now, even if I wanted to. Everyone already knows you intercepted my ravens. Too many were hurt, too many died. If I keep you on my council, it will set a precedent that defying me and causing death will have no consequence. I can offer you a pardon because you saved my life. If you’re willing, I can give you a dwelling outside the Keep, but in the capitol. And over time, you may earn back a place on my council. But this must never happen again.”  
“It won’t, Your Grace. I swear it. Thank you.”  
Daenerys nodded. “Good. Now if you’ll both please excuse me. I’m not well, I’m going to rest.”   
She stood then, and both men stood with her. She could see concern on their faces, and it consoled her somewhat, but pain was ripping through her and she hurried to her room to lay down and in minutes, she fell asleep. 

*****************************

Sansa entered the hall where the Northern lords and those of the Vale and Riverlands had agreed to meet to discuss independence.  
She was tense. She could see some anger in the faces around her, and she lifted her chin in defiance.   
Jon stood to speak first.   
He laid the wooden box Daenerys had given him earlier, and removed the crown, laying that too on the table.  
“Do you know what this is?” He asked the assembled lords and ladies.  
“It’s a crown,” Robin Arryn offered.  
“It’s the Crown of Winter,” Lyanna Mormont said, her voice soft with wonder. “I’ve seen it in books. How did you get it, Your Grace?”  
“Yes,” Jon said. “It’s the Crown of Winter. This is the crown my ancestor Torrhen Stark surrendered to Aegon Targaryen. Queen Daenerys found it in the Keep and returned it to my family.”  
An awed silence met his words.   
“So she too wishes us to be independent?” Lord Manderly asked.

“What she wants is for the Seven Kingdoms to be unified for the duration of winter and rebuilding. And well we know, she wants to rule all Seven Kingdoms. But she will not force her rule on anyone. It’s ours to decide. If we choose independence, we will not have any southern taxes. But we will have to pay the Iron Bank. And we cannot expect the other Kingdoms to aid us. That’s what independence means. It means we cannot depend on the other kingdoms to help us. Our stores are low. Winter is upon us. The glass gardens of Winterfell were destroyed by Ramsay Bolton. Independence is a noble ideal. And freedom is precious. But we have now a queen who has no intention of destroying our freedom, even if we bend the knee to her. We will have all the freedoms we’ve had before. You are going to cast your ballot and decide what you want for the North. If Queen Daenerys was an oppressive ruler, we should not hesitate in choosing independence. But an oppressive ruler wouldn’t give us this choice.”

At this point, Edmure Tully stood. “I have something I must say. I see no reason the Riverlands should consider itself part of the Northern Kingdom,” he said to Jon. “I mean no offense, of course. I’m sure you are a fine king. And the Riverlands aided King Robb Stark in the war against the Lannisters. Then, on the night of my wedding, a wedding I was forced into because my nephew the king broke his word, I was taken prisoner and everyone else was butchered. I sired a son I didn’t meet for moons.” He turned to Sansa. “You said you won back the North, niece. It’s a wonder then that you did nothing to restore the River Lands, if you consider us to be part of the Northern Kingdom.”

Sansa bristled. “Uncle, you must understand-“

“I am not finished. I know my sister didn’t raise you this way. To interrupt your elders. To argue like a petulant child with the queen at her council.” Sansa blanched with rage, and Edmure continued. “The Riverlands were always at the center of war. We had century upon century of destruction, and only knew peace when the Targaryens ruled. Of course that ended with Aerys Targaryen, and once again the Riverlands burned. After Robert won, we had some peace, but then when the wars began again, who do you suppose burned first? The River Lands. We have been burned again and again in these last years. It wasn’t the North who freed me. It was the enemy. Jaime Lannister. In exchange for surrendering Riverrun, I was reunited with my wife and my son. Now Riverrun has been restored to us. We only want peace. We will always support the North. We are kin. Family, Duty, Honor. These are my House words. But it seems all the duty has been done by the Riverlands for the North, and not the other way around. None of us see any benefit in bending the knee to the North who will only seek to bleed us further, rather than the South, who has offered us aid. We will swear fealty to the queen.”

He sat back down and Sansa seethed.

Lord Royce stood then. “I’ve discussed the matter with Lord Arryn and we too will aid the North when we can, as we have. But we are in winter, and traveling will be difficult, particularly with the Hill Tribes. Lady Sansa has been actively trying to ensure the stores for the North would last through winter. I have admired her and of course my support will always be with the North. But frankly, her intentional baiting of the queen leaves me concerned. If it’s a war Lady Sansa wants, I have no doubt the queen can bring war the likes of which we haven’t seen in our lifetime.”

“The Eyrie is impregnable,” Sansa began.

“That may be, My Lady,” Royce turned to her. “But you’ve seen Harrenhal? Or at least heard the stories? We have no possible defense if Queen Daenerys tires of your disrespect and decides to war with us.”  
“If you think she’ll simply rain down fire on the Eyrie, it’s a wonder you would consider following her,” Sansa snapped.  
“My Lady, if that were her natural inclination, she could have done it already. She certainly didn’t have to come join the war with the dead.”

“If she wanted the Seven Kingdoms, it was to her benefit to join us,” Sansa insisted.

“When I arrived at Dragonstone,” Jon put in, standing, “she advised me to move everyone further south. If she hadn’t joined our fight, and the North fell, she’d have evacuated Westeros and tried to lure the Night King and his army to the capitol. She was going to seal it off then, and burn the entire city with dragonfire, detonating the caches of wildfire under the city. She’d have burned the army of the dead to ash, and then have her armies attack the Walkers and the Night King. She had a plan. She only came North because she knew we would never leave, and she wanted us to survive.”

This was met with more silence, a thoughtful silence that set Sansa’s nerves on edge. 

“The Vale will support the North,” Lord Royce reiterated. “But we are not vassals to the North. And we need the aid from the crown with winter here and most of the lands destroyed by war. We’ve never had an issue as far as taxes. We will swear fealty to the queen.”

Lord Cerwyn stood then. “I will do as asked by the King in the North. But we are tired of war. There will be storms. We hope there will be no more fighting.”

Jon nodded. “We will all cast our votes. I believe our freedom will not be threatened if we swear fealty to the queen, but our survival will be threatened if we don’t. Not because of her, but because of starvation.” He turned to Sansa. “I know you disagree, and you may express your thoughts as well. But at tomorrow’s feast you will apologize to her before all the lords and ladies of Westeros, and acknowledge that your behavior was wrong.”

Sansa stared at him. “I’ll apologize to her privately.”

“That you may, but you will also apologize publicly.”

“You just want to humiliate me now because you-“

“No, Sansa. I don’t. But your apology needs to be as public as your disrespect was.”

Sansa shuddered. “And if I don’t?”

“If you don’t, then you may stay in your quarters instead of attending the feast.”

“I agree,” Lady Lyanna interjected. She turned to Sansa. “Whether we swear fealty or not, there is no reason we should be allowed to disrespect her at her council. She fought beside us in the Great War. She saved our vulnerable people by advising against the crypts. She went to Kings Landing to save our armies when she was barely well enough to walk. She has agreed to uphold our independence and given back the Stark crown. She’s done everything to earn our respect and despite being able to obliterate our armies, she is following through on her promise to respect our independence if that’s what we choose. You must apologize to her, Lady Sansa, otherwise we all look like ungrateful children.”

Sansa nodded bitterly. “I’ll apologize to her, but I will not bend the knee to her.”

“That’s for the king to decide,” Lord Manderly said. 

Sansa was trembling slightly, and she fisted her hands into her dress. 

“It’s for all of you to decide,” Jon corrected. “We will have a vote. If it were up to me alone we’d have sworn fealty already, because I don’t wish to see our people starve. But this will concern all of us. I hope you choose well.”

************************

Tyrion felt light, as if a weight had been lifted. Daenerys had reinstated him as her Hand.   
I will never betray her again, Tyrion vowed. He had joined the other lords in drinking. They were gathered in the hall now, the ladies having gone to bed. Jaime and Podrick sat beside him. Ser Brienne had taken little Joanna to bed as well. Tyrion felt almost anxious; too much had happened, too much was right. His experience had taught him that when things seemed too perfect, something terrible was about to happen.  
But for now, he was going to enjoy himself.  
The lords were discussing Sansa, and Tyrion tensed.   
“She’s a obnoxious little bitch,” one Lord said, and Jon turned to the man.

“Mind your words, my lord,” Jon said. “Lady Sansa was wrong, and she will apologize to the queen. But she is my sister.”

The lord lifted an appeasing hand. “I meant no offense, Your Grace. But she was quite disrespectful.”

“It’s a wonder the queen didn’t say anything,” another Lord added. “Perhaps she’s not as strong as she seems. She may be weak in ways we don’t see.”

At that, Randyll Tarly laughed scornfully. “You’d never suggest something so foolish if you’d seen her in battle. I fought against her on the Goldroad and she crushed us in minutes. And I fought with her, as her ally, against the army of the dead. She reworked our entire battle strategy and-“

“Forgive my interruption, Lord Tarly,” Lord Crakehill began. “But we keep hearing of this army of the dead...this was real?”

“It was real. I saw the dead army with my own eyes, as did many of the men here.” Tarly’s arm swept over the room, indicating the lords who had been at the battle. “My own son Dickon killed quite a few of them. And at one point he was surrounded by the dead bastards and the queen flew over him on her dragon, stood up on the beast and loosed arrows on the dead to thin them out. It was my son Samwell who discovered dragonglass as an effective way to kill them. He killed a white walker. The first man in a thousand years to do so.” A cheer went up at this, and Tyrion glanced at Samwell Tarly, whose face was flushed. “Lord Gendry here made us weapons. King Jon rode one of the queen’s dragons, and so did Lord Tyrion. Those of us who fought there, will never forget what we saw. And our queen, I can assure you, is anything but weak. She jumped from her dragon into fire to kill a walker, then ran back out of the fire unburnt, as if it were nothing. I hope you are never in a situation where you must see her in battle, but if you do, you will eat your words.”

Lord Crakehill frowned. “Of course I must also be concerned that she may in time become like her father. We would be in real danger then, if she’s as fierce as you say.”

“She’s not like her father,” Jaime interjected. “As all of you know, I worked very closely with her father,” he added, smirking at them.

“We are aware,” Lord Royce said dryly. 

“If she were like her father, we would all be dead,” Jaime said bluntly. 

“I didn’t know her father,” Gendry said. “But I know she didn’t have to restore my father’s name. She could have given Storms End to anyone, but instead she legitimized me and gave me my father’s keep.”

“And the North is going to bend the knee to her? Or declare independence?” Crakehill asked Jon. 

Jon sighed. “I don’t know yet. I’m letting them vote on it. I’ve recommended we bend the knee to her. And my sister intends to apologize to her. But I am not sure yet what they will do.”

“The Riverlands are swearing fealty to her,” Edmure Tully said. “I think to do otherwise is foolish.”

Jon nodded in agreement and Tyrion felt for him. He knew that Sansa was being unreasonable, and the North’s loyalty to their own was well established. Jon would have his hands full with debt and hunger if they chose independence. Tyrion had tried himself to speak to Sansa, to no avail. 

He drank his wine, wondering if Daenerys would aid them even if they chose independence. He was looking forward to discussing these things with her. He was looking forward to the many things that they would go over, planning the future. He felt hopeful, and after all they’d seen and experienced, for now that was enough.


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany meets with Qyburn, Jon seeks assistance from Willas, Sansa is deeply affected by being in Kings Landing, and they’re all getting ready for the feast!  
As always, your comments mean the world to me! Thank you so much!  
I’m sorry I didn’t post yesterday, it wasn’t looking right!  
I hope you enjoy this chapter! :-)

Chapter Twenty Five

Daenerys woke from her nap reluctantly. She was still tired, still in pain.   
“We could tell Qyburn you’ll meet with him tomorrow,” Missandei was saying as she lit the lamps in Dany’s bed chambers.   
“No, no, I’ll meet him now,” Dany said, sitting up and taking a deep breath.   
“Daenerys, you don’t owe him...” Missandei broke off, and she was staring at Dany’s face in horror, her eyes wide.   
“What is it?” Dany asked, and then walked to the large mirror with its lion-encrusted frame that Cersei had left in the corner of the elaborate room.   
Lions on everything, Daenerys thought. Once the realm recovers, I’m going to redecorate, she mused, and have dragons instead of lions...her own thoughts stopped as she saw her face in the mirror. She was terribly pale, and dark circles ringed her eyes. But most alarming was the streak of blood that had at some point made its way from her mouth across her cheek, toward her ear.   
“You need to see a Maester,” Missandei said firmly.  
“For what? So he can tell me to stay in bed for what’s left of my life?” Daenerys washed her face resolutely.  
“So he can find out what’s happening.”  
“I have an idea of what’s happening, Missandei. Something inside me is bleeding. It’s only a little.”  
“It will get worse.” Missandei’s voice was low, as if to avoid frightening Daenerys, but Dany could hear the panic under it.  
“I realize that. There’s been damage from the poison. We knew that already. But what can I do? Kinvara will start talking about burning people. The Maesters will say there’s nothing that can be done, and I must rest. I can do neither. I can’t allow the burning of some innocent person to pay for my own life. I can’t lie in bed for the rest of my life. I have too much to do, and I want to get as much done as I can before my time is over.”  
Dany turned back to her. Missandei’s face was anguished, but she quickly composed her features and walked toward her.   
“Let me fix your hair,” she said softly. Dany sat down, and felt Missandei’s fingers deftly pushing escaped tendrils back into their braids. “You are not only my queen, Daenerys,” Missandei said. “You’re my friend. My sister. I love you. I don’t want you to die.”  
“I love you,” Dany said, reaching up to squeeze Missandei’s hand affectionately. “I don’t want that, either, Missandei. Lady Olenna told me that she and Lord Willas have been sending letters to people who might have some idea of how to fix whatever’s broken in me. But from what we know, there’s nothing that can be done. I want to live. Of course I do. But I don’t want to curl up in bed and let all my plans go. If I do, I might die anyway, and then I’ve thrown away the time I had to do the things I wanted to.”  
“But you may live for a longer time if you don’t do anything to make it worse.”  
“Maybe. But maybe not.” She sighed. “Sometimes the pain is bad. And the fatigue. I may be forced into my bed before long anyway. I’d prefer to at least try to accomplish a little more first, while I still can.”  
Missandei finished with Dany’s hair and stepped back. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”  
Dany nodded. “I’m sure.”  
She walked to her council room, where her guards waited with Qyburn, and sat, motioning for him to do the same.  
He obeyed her, and his eyes were fixed on her face in a fascination that she felt was entirely impersonal.  
“Thank you for seeing me, Your Grace.”  
“Why did you want to meet with me privately?” She asked.  
“Is it true that you’ve walked through fire unhurt?”  
“Yes.”  
“Remarkable,” he said. “And you weren’t given that Dornish potion for some time.”  
“My advisors had to send for it.”  
“And yet you didn’t die waiting.”  
“I almost did. And now it’s as you say. I’m going to die.”  
“Because you have internal damage.”  
She sighed. “Yes.”  
“Has anything happened yet?”  
“Obviously not, as you can see I’m alive.”  
“I meant, other things. Fevers from infection. Bleeding. Pain.”  
Dany was getting impatient. There was a light in the man’s eyes, and she knew he must want his vengeance for his queen, but she had no reason to appease him.  
“If what you want is to be secure that I’m dying,” she began, her voice cold, “you can rest assured your queen will have her vengeance. But I intend to fight it for as long as I can.”  
“On the contrary, Your Grace. I had my vengeance for her when I detonated the wildfire. I delivered her child safely to Ser Jaime. I know you intend to execute me. Although I don’t think my actions are any different from quite a few of your own or your Hand’s. I just wanted to see...I’ve always been very curious. Perhaps too curious. It’s how I lost my chain.”  
“You lost your chain because you were curious?” Dany asked, looking at him dubiously.   
“Essentially.”  
She studied him. “I expected that you wanted to plead your case. To give further explanation for your actions.”  
“Oh, no, Your Grace. I’ve said all I had to say on that. I don’t wish to die, but I’ve lived a long life.”  
“Why, then?”  
“Why?”  
“Why did you want a private audience?”  
“I wanted to know if it were true. If you could walk unhurt through fire. If you’d survived days of poisoning. You are an anomaly.”  
“Not particularly. Targaryens-“  
“Targaryens are not typically immune to fire. That’s an unusual trait, even in your family. If you’d died and Cersei had won, I’d have very much liked to study you.”  
Dany stared at him. “Well, I can’t say I’m sorry for disappointing you.”  
“No, of course not. But...it seems a shame for you to die.”  
Dany almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “It does seem a shame,” she repeated, not even trying to hide the sarcastic edge in her voice.   
“I mean that...aren’t the Maesters doing anything?” Qyburn asked.  
“There’s nothing they can do,” she said brusquely, standing. “Now if that’s all-“  
“Nothing they can do!” Qyburn hissed. “Is that what they said?”  
She hesitated. “Well...no. I haven’t seen a Maester recently. Because Maester Wolkan only recommended bed rest, and cool rags to lower the fever, and my Maester at Dragonstone did the same. Kinvara gave me a potion I believe had some kind of magic-“  
“Magic?”  
“But she said the infections will keep coming back until they’re too strong. And then...I’ll die.”  
“So rest and magic and then death. That’s your plan?”  
“Do you have a better plan?” She demanded, feeling her anger rise.  
“If I were to suggest it to you, I suspect you would execute me immediately.”  
“I don’t execute people for suggestions.”  
“At the Citadel, they would be more likely to have some idea of what to do,” he said carefully.  
“Doubtful. They’d have allowed my friend Ser Jorah to die of greyscale.”  
“Ah, but greyscale is contagious. They’d be less fearful in your case...although maybe they would still fear. They were certainly afraid to try anything new when I was there.”  
“What is it you think they can do?”  
“Do you grant favors for men you intend to execute?”  
“Not as a general rule.”  
“Would you be willing to make an exception?”  
Dany frowned. “What’s the request?”  
“As queen, you may be able to do this. Have someone go to them...preferably someone intimidating. Or if you can spare it, send them gold. Have this person request all my writings.”  
“You want me to get your writings?”  
“Yes. What needs to be done, you will not allow me to do. And if it’s not done correctly, you will die.”  
Dany grew still, sitting back down. “You think there’s something that can be done?”  
“Yes. I’m certain of it.”  
“If this is some magic that involves a sacrifice-“  
“It’s not magic, Your Grace. And any sacrifice was made long ago by men who would have died anyway.”  
“I can’t say I like the sound of this.”  
“Of course. Continue as you have been, with your magic and your potions. Get a Maester who knows how to treat internal infections. Once the writings are here, you can go over the process and decide for yourself.”  
She nodded. “All right,” she agreed.  
“You said your friend Ser Jorah would have died of Greyscale. He didn’t?”  
“No. Samwell Tarly found a book about it and saved him.”  
Qyburn nodded approvingly. “I spoke to that boy often on the way here. A very bright boy.”  
She nodded. “He is.” She stood again. “Was that all? You want your writings?”  
“Yes, Your Grace.”  
“I’ll see what I can do.”

***********************************

Jon sat with Bran, drinking the last of the ale from the jug he’d brought after meeting with the lords.   
“Sansa agreed to apologize to Daenerys,” Jon said.  
“She is not happy about apologizing to her at the feast,” Bran said softly, looking into the fire.  
“She disrespected her publicly. She needs to apologize publicly.” He sighed. “Dany has kept her word to respect our independence. She has done everything she promised and more. She didn’t have to give our crown back.”  
“That’s why Sansa is suspicious,” Bran said. “I told her about Daenerys’ mother’s crown. How they had to sell it. But Sansa can’t trust easily.”  
Jon frowned. “Do you know where Dany’s mother’s crown is now?”  
Bran looked at him. “I thought you might ask. I’ve been looking. Going back to the day they sold it. Following. I can tell you by tomorrow.”  
“Thank you, Bran. Not that I can buy it back for her,” he added bitterly. “Any idea what the North is deciding?”  
“Some of them still want to be independent. It’s the principle, mostly. Some want you to swear fealty to Daenerys. She’s won their respect. The truth is that many of the smallfolk don’t care. They respect you, they respect her, they don’t want to be dragged into another war and they don’t want to starve. That’s what they’ve been saying.”  
Jon nodded. “Still hard to tell what the vote will be.”  
“Yes,” Bran agreed.  
Jon stood. “I should get some sleep. Do you need anything?”  
“No. Meera will be here soon, if I need anything she’ll get it.”  
“Meera? This late?”  
Bran’s mouth curved upward. The phantom of a smile. “We’ve been talking.”  
Jon smiled at him. “She’s forgiven you.”  
“Yes. I had to explain it to her. How I was...how I lost myself. She’s dear to me. She’ll be here soon.”  
“I’m glad to hear it,” Jon said.   
He walked back to his room to rest. 

True to his word, Bran had told Jon that morning where he could Rhaella’s crown. It had almost been melted down, but a man in Pentos who was fascinated with such things, had purchased it for his collection. He’d almost sold it the year before, but could not agree on a price.   
Jon broke his fast in silence, thinking about that, about the price the man wanted, about how it would be for Daenerys to have it back.   
All the things he wanted to do for her, to show how deeply he loved her.   
But she had forbidden him to exchange his life for hers and Kinvara had been unwilling to perform the sacrifice.   
The crown was far more expensive than he could afford...he looked at Longclaw. He could likely fetch a good price for it...but his chest constricted, hurting to think about selling it.   
He remembered his Lord Commander, Jeor Mormont, giving it to him. How honored he had felt.  
And even when he’d offered it to Ser Jorah Mormont. In his terrible hazy memory of Dany’s vision, they’d had the conversation North of the Wall, and in this life, they’d had it on the ship to White Harbor.   
Ser Jorah had said, “it’s yours.”  
He did not want to give up this sword. It meant too much.  
He wondered if perhaps he could borrow the money and offer the sword as collateral.  
This lightened his heart.   
Now he had something to offer, he decided to approach Lord Willas Tyrell. If anyone had that kind of wealth in Westeros, it was him.

Jon found Lord Willas in the garden, looking in despair through letters.   
“Good morning, My Lord,” he said.  
Lord Willas glanced up from the papers. “Good morning, Your Grace.”  
“Are you all right?”  
Lord Willas sighed. “I received a few letters back and none of them have good news for me.”  
“What were the letters about?”  
“The queen’s illness. Nobody seems to know anything about what to do for damage after surviving Tears of Lys. I did receive some helpful ideas for fighting the infections. That will no doubt prolong her life at least. But the infections will keep coming back.”  
Jon sighed deeply. Lord Willas’s words had started the fear clawing again at his heart, the ever present horror that would recede and return like a tide of dread.   
“I wish I knew,” Jon said. He wondered if Bran could find something somewhere.   
“So do I,” Lord Willas said. “Was there something you wanted to speak to me about? Or were you just enjoying the gardens? If you want to be alone...”  
“No, I wanted to talk to you. To...ask you something.”  
Lord Willas turned his full attention to Jon now. “What is it?”  
“I wanted to...” he hesitated. “To ask you if I might borrow some gold from you. I can offer my sword as collateral.” He took the sword out of its sheath to show Lord Willas.  
Lord Willas took it, looking at its blade. “Valyrian steel,” he observed.  
“Yes.”  
Lord Willas handed the sword back to him. “I’m not going to take this from you. How much did you want to borrow?”  
“If you don’t take it, what do you want as collateral? That I’ll pay you back?”  
“Your word,” Lord Willas said. Jon stared at him gratefully, and Lord Willas continued. “You’re asking for this loan to pay the Iron Bank, I take it.”  
Jon laughed then, suddenly and bitterly. “No. Nor for supplies.”   
Lord Willas looked surprised, but quickly recovered. “All right,” he said.  
“Dany-I mean...Queen Daenerys...when she was a child her brother had to sell her mother’s crown,” Jon said.  
“Yes. She told me.”  
“My brother Bran found it. I wanted to buy it back for her.”  
Lord Willas was fascinated now. “How did he find it so quickly?”  
“He has visions. I know it sounds like a frivolous thing to buy, especially in such times. But-“  
“It’s not frivolous. I sent out letters the day she told me about it. I was hoping to find it and buy it for her myself.”  
“I can’t pay you back right away.”  
“I know.”  
“But I’ll pay interest when the time comes.”  
“No. I won’t charge you interest. Not for this.”  
“Why not?”  
“I have a selfish motive,” Willas said.  
“What’s your selfish motive?”  
“I want her to have it,” Lord Willas said simply, smiling faintly.  
Jon felt suddenly guilty. The man had wanted to buy it for her himself.   
“I could...tell you where it is. If you want to give it to her,” Jon offered.  
Lord Willas smiled fully then. “I did want to give it to her. But she gave you back your family’s crown. I can see why it should be you who gives back hers.”  
Jon studied him. “You’re in love with her.”  
“As are you. And you have the advantage that she’s in love with you as well.”  
Jon sighed. “I don’t think she is anymore.”  
“Well, that’s between the two of you,” Willas said, and Jon could see a flash, a glimmer of hope cross his features. “Let me know how much you need and I’ll have the gold for you this afternoon.”  
“Thank you,” Jon said. 

**************************************

Sansa had decided to walk through the gardens, to the Godswood. She had regretted it almost immediately.   
She could not stop feeling like the helpless child she had been.   
The air smelled the same as it had, although Sansa had to acknowledge it was cleaner, fresher now.  
But it all looked the same.   
And she would be powerless again.  
How could Jon consider bending the knee?   
Didn’t he realize what could happen? What if Daenerys decided it would be smart to marry Sansa to some Lord?  
To kings and queens, the people were only cyvasse pieces to be moved around the map to benefit their own designs.   
Sansa had sworn she would die before going back to Ramsey. Ramsey was dead now, Joffrey was dead. But how many more Ramseys and Joffreys abounded throughout all of Westeros?   
Jon had promised to protect her.   
She shivered.  
Jon was going to make her apologize to Daenerys in front of everyone. The humiliation of it curdled her stomach.  
If Daenerys had enough coin and grain to aid them in fealty, she had enough to save them from starvation, and was choosing to let them starve if they didn’t bow to her, Sansa thought.   
How could no one else see that?   
Jon would never do that, she thought wildly. Jon would never let people starve just because they didn’t bend the knee to him.  
Jon should be on that throne, not Daenerys. And Sansa knew they could make that happen.  
I promised, she reminded herself. I promised under the Weirwood in our own Godswood.  
And what if someone did murder Daenerys, once the truth got out?  
Sansa could not shake from her mind the image of Daenerys’ pale face, ravaged with pain and exhaustion, looking at her from under the blankets of her sick bed. Her hoarse whisper.  
When you were away from Winterfell, the people here sewed your family sigil into banners. They drank secret toasts to your health. They waited for your return.  
Sansa remembered the little queen’s words to her, and it hurt to think of sharing a secret that could endanger her.  
But truly, Sansa had to weigh that against the starvation of her people. She had to weigh it against the horror of another forced marriage.   
It’s her or me, and the entire North, she thought. Sometimes a ruler had to make tough decisions, and Jon certainly wouldn’t.  
Sansa returned to her room, feeling feverish. She froze as she saw someone sitting at her table, then relaxed when she realized it was Lady Olenna Tyrell.  
Sansa stepped closer, seeing lemon cakes on the table.  
“I remembered these were your favorite, I thought I’d bring you some and we could talk,” she said.  
Sansa sat down, pressing her hands into her lap.  
“Thank you,” she murmured.  
“Child, you look as pale as the last time we sat together like this. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”  
“It’s exactly the same. I’m being forced to do things I don’t want to do, forced to bow and be humiliated.”  
“Now, child, I remember those days quite well. You don’t really think it’s the same, do you?”  
“I don’t trust her,” she blurted. “I know she’s not like Joffrey...but she’s like Cersei in some ways.”  
“You think Queen Daenerys is like Cersei?”  
“She has the resources to help us. She’s just denying us to punish us.”  
“She’s not a fool. She needs her resources to rebuild her own kingdoms, child. You are a Lady, and the queen said it was you who oversaw the stores in the North. You know that in times like this, post war and winter, everything is scarce. Will you be trying to support other kingdoms or focusing on your own?”  
“You trust her.”  
“I know what I’ve seen.”  
“I used to think you were clever.”  
“I used to think you knew how to behave like a lady,” Lady Olenna shot back.   
Sansa sighed. She should have known better than to bait the Queen of Thorns.  
“You want the North to bend the knee to her.”  
“I think if the North has sense you’ll bend the knee to her, but she’s left that to you. It will certainly save me gold and grain if you don’t. What I want is for you to stop disrespecting her in public. I feel as if I’m watching Cersei’s ghost and it’s quite disconcerting. You were much smarter than that before.”  
“I was weak before.”  
“You weren’t weak, child. You were terrified. Your boldness in addressing Queen Daenerys demonstrates that you know very well she’s not like Cersei or Joffrey, unless you’ve become stupid since last we met.”  
Sansa shuddered. “I realize you think she’s perfect-“  
“I most certainly do not think she’s perfect.”  
“But you love her,” Sansa spat before she could stop herself.  
“I suppose I do,” Lady Olenna said thoughtfully. “But that has no bearing on this discussion. Only you and your North can decide what you want. She’s not forcing you to bend the knee. Do not disrespect her like that again. Now eat your cake, and relax. You look peaked, you should take a rest before the feast.”  
With that, Lady Olenna took her leave. Sansa picked up one of the little cakes and nibbled at it.  
Immediately, she was assaulted by memories. The last time she’d eaten lemon cakes she’d sat with Margaery and Lady Olenna. A captive, tormented by Joffrey.  
She felt nausea turning in her stomach, and she ran to the privy, retching.  
She dropped to her knees, trembling. She had loved lemon cakes, and now all the flavor did was recall the horrors of her life.  
Only you and your North can decide what you want, Lady Olenna had said.  
Sansa wanted safety and a free North, and she wanted her people to survive, not starve to death in the name of that freedom.  
There was only one thing she could do to ensure that, and she hoped Jon would understand.

**********************************

Daenerys and Missandei were sitting at the council table with Ellaria Sand, as well as Tyene and Sarella Sand, and Arianne Martell.   
Ellaria had wanted to explain the situation with her choosing an heir.  
She wanted Tyene to succeed her, but Tyene had insisted that Arianne was in fact Doran’s heir.   
An argument had ensued, and Daenerys drank her wine, listening.   
They looked at her expectantly, and she frowned.   
“This is your decision,” she said.  
“You’re the queen,” Sarella reminded her.   
Dany sighed. “Do you both want to rule?”  
“No,” Tyene said emphatically. “I’ve never had a desire to rule. I’m a fighter, not a ruler. Arianne is the one who should rule.”  
Daenerys turned to Arianne.   
“I was supposed to be my father’s heir”, she said. “He sent me into confinement for defying him. He had written about Quentyn and then Trystane being his heirs and I got angry. But his true plan was to marry me to your brother and be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”  
“My brother? Rhaegar was married. To your own aunt.”  
“Not Rhaegar. Viserys. Ser Willem Darry and my father exchanged letters about it.”  
Daenerys frowned. If Viserys had known this, the course of their entire lives would have changed.  
“You wish to rule Dorne?” Dany asked Arianne.  
“Yes.”  
Dany turned to Ellaria. “If Tyene doesn’t wish to rule and Arianne does...do you have some reason for opposing what they wish?”  
Ellaria looked angry at Tyene. “No,” she finally said.  
Dany looked at them thoughtfully. “If it’s my opinion you want...”  
Ellaria nodded, defeated. “I know what you’ll say,” she said, and drank her wine.   
“I’m glad this is finally settled,” Sarella said brightly.   
Daenerys was too, and she sat with them a little longer, listening to them chatter happily, then as the hateful pain began to return, she excused herself. Missandei offered to join her, but she’d been deep in conversation with Sarella and Dany told her to stay and enjoy her afternoon.   
Dany walked down the hallway. Her stomach had begun its brutal assault, and she wanted to rest a little before the feast.   
She saw Sansa rushing down the hall, pale and shaking.  
“Lady Sansa,” she said. “Are you all right?”  
Sansa fixed her clear blue eyes on Dany with a loathing Dany had never seen from her, even when they’d first met.  
“We’re alone, we aren’t in front of anyone,” Sansa spat. “I’m sure I don’t have to crawl before you now, do I?”   
Dany stared at her. “No. Are you-“  
“Don’t pretend you care if I’m all right,” Sansa snapped. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself and we both know it.”  
Dany felt angry but under that anger was hurt. “I only wanted to-“  
“Take over everything, just like I said. I know what people like you want.” She stormed   
down the hall and Daenerys watched her, shaken.  
She wasn’t sure why Sansa’s words hurt her. They’d certainly never been friends. But she suddenly remembered Sansa helping her back to her room the night of the victory celebration, when Dany had been stumbling drunk. Remembered Sansa helping Dany dress so she could mount Drogon and save their armies. That night Sansa had read to her, her voice soft, how she spoke in different tones for the characters in the story.  
Dany’s chest hurt, and it was hard now to separate the worsening physical pain with the ache from Sansa’s words. She tasted blood in the back of her throat then, and was about to hurry to her room, when a voice behind her spoke.  
“She’s scared.”  
Dany gasped, turning, and saw Arya standing behind her.   
“Why?” She asked, but now Arya was studying her face and stepped closer.  
“What’s wrong?” Arya asked.  
“I’m confused, I’m not sure what she’s-“  
“You’re sick,” Arya said.  
“Oh. Not so much more than usual.”  
“I’ll walk you to your room.”  
“What is she scared of?” Dany asked as they began walking.  
“She’s afraid of being helpless again. Aside from family, everyone she’s ever trusted betrayed her. She’s been hurt, a lot, and she doesn’t want it to happen again.”  
“I can understand that,” Daenerys said softly. Too much maybe, she thought.  
“She thinks you’re trying to pressure her into giving up Northern independence.”  
“I’m not,” Dany said. “I just-“  
“I know. Bran told us that you were going to pay the whole thing and the Tyrells talked you out of it.”  
Dany frowned. She didn’t want to push the blame onto the Tyrells.  
“I take responsibility for my own choices. It’s not their fault.”  
“It’s not a fault at all. It would be really stupid to pay debts for independent kingdoms. But Sansa doesn’t see it that way. And she’s gone through a terrible ordeal, but she hasn’t had to go hungry. She doesn’t really understand the fear that the Northern people have of that. And they don’t fully understand her fears. Because they didn’t go through what she went through. She’s never had to starve or beg, and most of the Smallfolk have never had a forced marriage. They’re coming at the problem from two different directions. The North wants independence but maybe not enough to starve. Sansa doesn’t really know what it is to starve.”  
Dany nodded. She couldn’t think of how to answer. She’d experienced both. But she’d come to love Drogo, he had come to love her. Those first few days, weeks, of her marriage, though...she remembered the night she’d decided she would end it. Her dream of her dragon that had restored her back to life.  
“I wouldn’t inflict either on anyone,” she finally said.  
“Sansa doesn’t know that.”  
Dany sighed. They reached her room, and Arya followed her inside, watched Dany take a handkerchief from the wooden box where she kept them, and cough into it, wiping her face.  
Dany sat down and waved her hand in invitation for Arya to do the same.  
“Thank you for walking me back,” she said.  
“You’re bleeding,” Arya told her.  
Dany sighed. Caught, she made no pretense at covering the handkerchief, though she still gripped it.  
“It happens sometimes,” she said, shrugging, desperately hoping to avoid the topic. “If you have any ideas for how to address this with Sansa, I’d appreciate hearing it.”  
Arya shrugged. “It’s hard to say. She wants independence so she can feel safe. But she doesn’t want the North to starve. And I think being in Kings Landing is hard for her.” Arya peered at Dany’s face. “You need to rest,” she said, standing. “Can I get you anything?”  
“No. Thank you.” Dany managed a smile, and Arya offered her a small smile in return.   
“I hope you feel better. I’ll see you tonight.”  
Dany watched her leave then laid on her bed, spent.   
She didn’t want to cry. Not over Sansa, not over the North, not over the pain slowly taking over her life. But the traitorous tears would not stop, and she wept silently into her pillow, and fell asleep.


	26. Chapter Twenty Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the feast! Sansa loses it, and Dany is fed up. Arya gives her an ultimatum.  
Thank you all who are reading my story, and thank you for all your thought provoking comments and ideas, you are all so awesome!  
I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Twenty Six

The preparations for the feast had begun.   
Tyrion walked through the halls, trying not to dwell on the last feast he’d attended at Kings Landing. Joffrey’s wedding to Margaery Tyrell. He could see the servants laughing and lighthearted as they set things up, and Tyrion remembered that those who worked the feast would be given the next two days of leisure and a feast of their own, while those who did not, were to be given a feast that evening. They’d had the full day off from their duties and would have tomorrow as well.  
The lords and ladies were all in their chambers getting ready, and anticipation hung in the air. This was to be Daenerys’s first feast as Queen, and Tyrion fervently hoped it would go smoothly and well. 

Tyrion could not remember ever being so utterly invested in the happiness of another person.   
He didn’t see any reason it should be anything but wonderful, except...he frowned as he thought about Sansa Stark.   
Tyrion remembered her time here all those years ago, the horrors and torment she’d endured. When he’d seen her in the last few days, she’d been pale and snappish, and her rude interruptions at Daenerys’ council had not been a benefit to anyone.   
He decided to stop by her room to see her. As he knocked, her voice sounded sharp as she commanded him to enter.

“My Lady,” Tyrion greeted as he entered. She was sitting on a chair, stiff and unmoving. “I was concerned I might have arrived at a bad time,” he said, looking at her warily.  
“Being here is nothing but a bad time,” she snapped.  
“Well...” Tyrion sat down. “There’s a feast tonight. That should be good, don’t you think?”  
“A feast,” Sansa said bitterly. “I have to grovel before your queen at this feast. Do you really expect me to enjoy it?”  
“Grovel?”  
“Jon said I have to publicly apologize to her.”  
Tyrion sighed. “Is that so terrible?”  
She turned on him, her eyes flashing. “Is that a jape? They just want to humiliate me for standing up for the North.”  
“I don’t think that’s true, My Lady.”  
“Of course you don’t. You’re besotted with her like everyone else.”  
“I’m not...besotted with her. I only-“  
“Why her?” Sansa demanded.  
“I believe in her,” Tyrion said. “And at this point, she’s demonstrated that all this time I’ve been right to do so. She’s already shown that she-“  
“She’s planning to starve the North into bowing to her.”  
“Lady Sansa, you know that isn’t true. She’s not trying to harm anyone. She can’t be expected to-“  
“She’s not even the rightful queen.”  
Tyrion felt suddenly cold. “She is the rightful queen, Lady Sansa,” he said, his voice cautious.   
“You know she isn’t. Jon is the heir, not her,” Sansa said.  
Tyrion’s heart was pounding now. He’d only just gotten back into Daenerys’ good graces, and he knew that this was probationary. The last thing he needed was to be caught discussing treason with his former wife.  
“She is the queen, by right of conquest.”  
“Conquest? Arya killed Cersei.”  
“I’m sure it’s best if we keep that quiet. People seem to believe it was an assassin, and we don’t want Arya to be charged with regicide.”  
“Charged by whom?” Sansa asked. “Your perfect little queen?”  
“By-“  
“She didn’t even take Kings Landing. Jon took the city with the other lords.”  
“And as you know, because of my own stupidity and Varys’, Daenerys was there at the time. And they took it in her name. Hung her banners.”  
“It’s Jon’s name and they’re Jon’s banners.”  
“I think we should not be discussing that with anyone until Jon and Daenerys-“  
“Of course you think that. But Jon is the rightful heir. He has the better claim. And he would never starve a kingdom to force them into submission.”  
“That’s not what Daenerys is doing. And she asked Jon what he wanted to do. She gave him the opportunity to claim the throne if he wanted it.”  
“She also tried to make him feel guilty about it, claiming she would be murdered if the truth got out. And tried to scare him into thinking he might be in danger from Dorne.”   
“Well, it would be unwise to ignore those possibilities,” Tyrion pointed out.  
“People have a right to know the truth. So they can make a choice.”  
Tyrion felt as if she’d thrown icy water in his face.   
“Lady Sansa, this...what you’re talking about is treason.”  
“Treason to whom? Your beautiful little pretender? Or the true king?”  
“Both of them. And I thought you said you liked her...sometimes...”  
“I did, before she decided she would starve us into submission.”  
Tyrion sighed again. There was no arguing with her, he realized. She was so set in her fear, she wouldn’t listen.   
He stood. “I’m going to get ready for the feast. I beg you, My Lady, speak to the queen before you do something you’ll regret.”

Tyrion had to warn Daenerys that Sansa was going to snap and tell someone of Jon’s parentage. It was only a matter of time, and she needed to be prepared. He was afraid. In fact, terrified. She might decide to burn Sansa with her dragons, and any hope of peace between the kingdoms would be ashes. And truth be told, he didn’t want Sansa harmed. But he didn’t want Daenerys harmed either, and he’d promised her, he’d given his word that he would never keep secrets from her again. And this was dangerous.   
Of course, Daenerys might not burn Sansa if she could be stopped before doing anything, and that was Tyrion’s hope.  
He rushed through the halls, toward the chambers that had once been his sister’s. He saw Missandei, and felt suddenly relieved.   
Daenerys has two Hands, he remembered, and saw now the benefit of it. He hurried to Missandei, falling into step beside her.  
“Missandei, I must tell you something urgent.”  
She glanced at him. “Go on.”  
“Lady Sansa is going to tell someone about Jon Snow. About his parentage.”  
“As the queen said she would,” Missandei observed.  
“Did she? Well, she was right.”  
“Who does she plan to tell?”  
“I don’t know. The Northern Lords, maybe. She’s very angry about the debt, she’s afraid of her people starving, and she’s terrified of having another ruler who will abuse her.”  
“Queen Daenerys will not abuse her,” Missandei said, her voice chilling.  
“I know that. You know that. But Lady Sansa doesn’t.”  
“Our queen has done nothing to harm her. She’s never harmed a single innocent. If Lady Sansa plans to make an enemy of Queen Daenerys, then she has no one to blame if she-“  
“I understand all that. I swear. I think we should warn the queen. That way she can stop her before it’s too late.”  
Missandei nodded. “I’m on my way to her rooms now to help her get ready for the feast.”  
They walked to Daenerys’ quarters, where Grey Worm and Blue Mouse stood guard. Missandei knocked, then entered the room, closing the door, and Tyrion nodded in greeting at the two men.   
“The feast will be lovely,” he offered.  
They both gave a brief nod of acknowledgement, and Tyrion was trying to think of what to say next, when a scream split the air.  
Grey Worm rushed into the room, his weapon ready, followed by Blue Mouse.  
Tyrion entered cautiously behind them, then went still, in paralyzed horror.  
His first impression was that the blood was everywhere. It filled his gaze. He felt as if his own blood froze at the sight of it.   
But as his senses returned, he saw that it wasn’t quite everywhere, but still there was far too much of it.  
Daenerys was in bed, Missandei sitting beside her, lightly shaking her, and blood surrounded her head. It covered half her face, and soaked her hair and pillow, and then, just under her waist, the bed was drenched in it. It looked like a birthing bed. Blood was dripping onto the floor one one side. The metallic scent of it filled the room.   
“Get Kinvara and the Maester,” Missandei told Blue Mouse, who turned and rushed out of the room.   
Grey Worm had slowly approached the bed, reaching to rest his fingers at Daenerys’ throat.  
“She’s alive,” he said.  
Tyrion felt weak with relief, but the fear did not recede.  
Maester Lomys, who had been Highgarden’s Maester, rushed into the room, followed by Kinvara and Blue Mouse. He approached the bed, waving smelling salts under Daenerys’ nose. She started, her eyes fluttering open.  
“Do you think I have time to rest another hour?” She asked hoarsely. “I don’t feel...” she broke off as her eyes focused and realized that her room was full of people. “What’s going on?”  
Then she saw the blood all over the bed. Her eyes widened.  
“Your Grace, I must urge you to rest,” Maester Lomys said emphatically.  
“Rest sounds lovely, but I’ll have to change all this,” she said, sitting up and wincing. “Do I have time? The feast-“  
“I think you should reconsider attending the feast,” Maester Lomys said, and pressed his hand to her forehead. “You have a fever.”  
“It’s not a fever. I’m always hot,” Daenerys said firmly. “I must attend. How much time do I have before it begins?”  
“Two hours,” Missandei said, and Tyrion could see she was trying to smooth her features to avoid betraying her fear.   
Daenerys nodded. She pushed herself from the bed, and hissed with pain.   
“I’ll make a potion for you,” Kinvara said.   
“Thank you, Kinvara,” Daenerys said. Missandei had gone to Daenerys’s side and was helping her across the room, and Daenerys smiled wanly at her in gratitude.  
“No one will think less of you if you can’t attend,” Missandei said softly.  
“I will attend,” Daenerys repeated. “I must. I don’t want to seem weak, and it seems Lady Sansa is determined to make me look that way.”  
Missandei and Tyrion exchanged glances.  
“About Lady Sansa,” Tyrion began.   
But Daenerys had looked into the mirror and seen her face half covered in blood, and cut him off.  
“Please don’t make me talk about her right now,” she said, her voice so soft and hurt that Tyrion looked helplessly at Missandei.  
“We think she’s going to tell people about Jon Snow,” Missandei said gently.

“Of course she is,” Daenerys said, sighing. She began to cough then, grabbing a handkerchief and spitting more blood into it. “I’ll talk to her tomorrow,” Daenerys said. “Maybe if I can find a way to assure her...” she broke off, as she poured water into a bowl and began washing her face. “I need to go to my dragons. I dreamed of them. I dreamed of their fire.”

“Let me try to get the blood out of your hair,” Missandei said.  
“No, I’ll cover it with something.” She wrapped her hair and pulled a black and red dressing gown over the blood stained nightgown she wore. She slipped her feet into her boots, and started walking, cautious and stumbling, and Missandei wrapped her arm around her waist.  
Kinvara returned with the potion, and Daenerys drank it, thanked her, and left the room, still leaning against Missandei, followed by Grey Worm and Blue Mouse.   
Maester Lomys sighed and called for servants to change Daenerys’ linens. 

Tyrion followed Daenerys, as did Kinvara.   
She walked outside toward the dragon pit, taking off the black dressing gown and handing it to Missandei, thanking her.  
Tyrion leaned against the wall, watching Daenerys. She approached Viserion, and as she did, Rhaegal and Drogon landed near her. All three of the dragons were nuzzling her lovingly.

Tyrion strained his eyes...it looked like...a gasp strangled his throat. Eggs. Six glimmering eggs sat under Viserion.   
Daenerys was saying something to the dragons, and they were almost...purring.   
They love her so much, Tyrion thought. He could see it, could almost feel it.  
He watched her as she stepped back, and then all three dragons blew fire over her.  
“What is she doing?” Tyrion asked.   
“She says dragon fire makes her feel stronger,” Missandei said.

Tyrion was doubtful, but after the fire cleared, she reached up to stroke her dragons, then turned to walk back to Tyrion and Missandei, and he had to admit her step was stronger. He noticed that she had small bruises on her belly, and that concerned him.  
Gods, she’s perfect, he thought, unable to stop staring at her, sooty and naked and beautiful. 

This was not even a sexual feeling, Tyrion realized, almost in chagrin. Just...awe.  
Daenerys took her dressing gown from Missandei, and thanked her, then began walking back to her room.   
“Does that really help?” Tyrion asked her.  
“It does,” Daenerys said.   
“You have bruises,” he told her.  
“Yes. They’ve been there since yesterday.”  
Tyrion sighed. “You really won’t consider missing the feast and resting?”  
She laughed softly. “I’d love to. But truly, I can’t. How would that look?”  
“I’m less concerned with how it looks, than how this will affect you.”

“It’s a feast. How bad can it be?” She said lightly. Then her face lost its humor, darkening her eyes. She turned to him. “I know there will come a time that I can’t go to feasts. I won’t be able to go walking through the city, or eventually even ride my dragons. I may still be able to make plans from my bed. But I won’t be able to do much else. Every time something like this happens, whether it’s pain or exhaustion or fever or infection, it will be worse. I’ll spend the last of my life in bed. I see no cause to have it happen any sooner than it must.”

Tyrion looked at her and a wave of grief enveloped him. “But...do you think maybe if you’re more careful, you’ll live longer?”  
“I don’t know. What I do know is that I’ll live less. And I don’t want that. When it happens I’ll accept it.”  
Tyrion laughed despite the heaviness that had lodged in his chest at her words. “I find that hard to believe. You’ll be stubborn right to your last breath.”  
Now she laughed. “I’ve missed you, Lord Tyrion.”  
“Likewise, Your Grace.”

********************************

Sansa had dressed for the feast, and she had to strengthen her resolve. Daenerys’ dragons, her armies, her power, would not frighten her into submission. She had pushed to the back of her mind every kindness the queen had bestowed on Sansa and her people. She could not waver. She could not weaken. 

She walked from her room down the halls, shivering as she remembered the heads of her father and Septa Mordane, high above her on spikes. Joffrey demanding that she look at her father.   
She remembered her hope as her brother Robb had won battle after battle; that hope dying when her brother and mother were murdered at Uncle Edmure’s wedding.  
She walked into the throne room.

The throne was above her with its menacing spikes, and Sansa felt a wave of nausea.  
“I will not be in your power anymore,” she told it, and never had she hated a thing, an object, more than she hated that hideous throne.  
As she stood there, she remembered that terrible day years ago, when she’d gone before this throne and begged for mercy for her father. 

Joffrey had promised mercy, then beheaded her father.   
She remembered Joffrey having her stripped and beaten before this throne.  
Sansa was shaking violently, and she began retching, leaning against one of the pillars.

She heard footsteps, and turned wildly, to see the queen walking with her guards. She was saying something to them about tables throughout the city, ensuring that everyone had enough food and wine. 

“And remember, some prefer ale,” she was saying, and then she saw Sansa.   
“Your Grace,” Sansa growled at her.  
“Lady Sansa,” she returned, peering at her face. Daenerys started walking toward her, and Sansa commanded herself not to flinch. “What’s wrong?” Daenerys asked her. Her voice had lost much of its warmth but was not ungentle.   
Sansa glared at her. She tried to stop trembling, but she was shaking too violently, sweating, and she hated to let Daenerys see the sickening fear inside her.  
“I’m fine, Your Grace,” she ground out.  
Daenerys stepped closer to her. “You are the Lady of Winterfell,” she said, her voice like steel, but low, for only Sansa to hear. “You are first in line for the Northern throne. You can’t let people see you like this. Let’s go back to your room.”  
“Is that a command?”  
“Does it have to be?”  
Sansa followed Daenerys as she began to walk. They returned to Sansa’s room, and Sansa sat down, staring straight ahead.  
“Lady Sansa. I would like to speak with you,” Daenerys said.   
“I can’t stop you, can I? You’re the queen.”  
Daenerys sighed. “I’m not trying to harm you, or the North.”  
“Save your propaganda for your worshippers,” Sansa snapped.  
“What is it you want?” Daenerys demanded.   
“I want a free North. And you’ll starve us if we choose freedom.”  
Daenerys frowned. “I’m not starving you,” she said. “If you want independence-“  
“Yes you are, and you know it!” Sansa snapped.   
“Lady Sansa, I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”  
“Something I’ll regret or something you’ll regret?”  
Before Daenerys could answer, there was a knock at the door, and Arya entered the room. Meera, pushing Bran’s chair, followed.  
Daenerys greeted them and they did the same. Daenerys glanced at Sansa one last time, her face almost sad.   
Then she left the room.   
“What was the queen doing here?” Meera asked.  
“She’s not my queen,” Sansa snapped.   
“Sansa, what happened?” Arya asked.  
“I was in the throne room, remembering. And she found me and made me come back to my room.”  
“She made you come back to your room?” Arya frowned.   
“Sansa was shaking and sweating,” Bran put in. “Daenerys didn’t want anyone else to see her like that.”  
“As if she cares,” Sansa snapped.  
“Sansa, if you do what you’re thinking of doing, I don’t think it will go the way you believe it will,” Bran told her.  
“What are you thinking of doing?” Arya asked.  
“Protecting the North. Protecting my family. Protecting myself.” Sansa stood. “We may as well go,” she said. 

*********************************

Daenerys studied herself in the mirror.  
The dream she’d had of drenching herself in her children’s fire had been right; she still felt the ever present pain and weakness, worse now since she’d bled so much in her sleep. But it had receded somewhat, which was owed at least in part to Kinvara’s potion.  
But the fire had made her feel stronger. She wondered how it would be to spend hours under their flames. How much stronger would that make her?  
Not strong enough, she thought sadly.  
She could not allow herself to hope, it hurt too much.   
But she would not give in to the despair, either.  
She’d taken her bath and watched the blood that had soaked into her hair and body, turning her bath water pink.   
She’d dressed in her family colors, a rich sumptuous red gown with black embroidery.   
She and Missandei had styled each other’s hair.   
Daenerys allowed herself to feel excited about the feast. It was her first feast as queen, at the Red Keep, the home she’d sought for so long.  
The Keep itself still didn’t feel like home, but when she would sit with Missandei, or the Tyrells, or even Yara Greyjoy now, she felt it. Home. Sarella Sand had also become dear to her very quickly, along with her sister Tyene and aunt Arianne Martell.   
She hoped tonight would be wonderful, for herself and for everyone. She was nervous, too, as her first feast would create a lasting impression.  
And it could easily be my last feast, she reminded herself.   
She shook her head. She would not allow herself to think about that. Not tonight.   
Tonight she would allow herself to enjoy the people and food and wine and ale. The flowers and lanterns that had been painstakingly brought to the great hall, all the work that had gone into making the room look festive and magical. Minstrels would sing to them, and they could all take a much needed rest from the ever present weight of all that was against them now. Hunger and scarcity and destruction from all those years of war.   
She donned the last of her jewelry, then slipped her mother’s ring on her finger. 

The hall was beautiful, she thought, smiling. As she entered, the people in the room stood, and her heart surged in affection for them.  
My people, she thought, almost tenderly.   
She’d made sure to hang their banners throughout the room, not to assign seats as she had at her council, but on the walls as a gesture of respect to the great houses. Her own banner was the largest, of course.   
She sat down and people began speaking again. At her own table, Missandei, Grey Worm, the Tyrells, Yara Greyjoy, the Sand Snakes, Princess Arianne, Randyll Tarly and Lord Tyrion were all talking animatedly.   
Lord Tyrion leaned close to her, murmuring, “my brother would like to announce his betrothal to Ser Brienne of Tarth tonight,” he said, and Dany could see his joy for Ser Jaime. “He wanted to make sure it would be all right with you.”  
Dany smiled. “Of course. That would be perfect.”  
Yes, everyone seemed happy, and it made her happy. Jon was sitting with the Northern Lords, and Daenerys had made certain to have his table set so that it was central to the tables around him. He was a king, and she wanted to ensure the respect therein.   
She caught his gaze and he smiled at her.  
She smiled in return, and she felt the same fluttering she’d always felt in her belly when she looked at him.   
His family entered then, and Daenerys felt the old knotting of anxiety when she saw Sansa. Her face was pale and the rancor in her expression had not receded in the least. The Starks and Meera Reed took their seats.  
Sansa stood suddenly, and stepped forward. Her movements were stiff, jerking, and Dany could not help but feel concern for her.   
“Your Grace,” Sansa said, her voice ringing loudly through the room, so that the revelers grew quiet. “I want to apologize to you for my disrespectful words and demeanor at your council.”  
Dany blinked, surprised. “Thank you for your apology, Lady Sansa. It’s appreciated and accepted.”   
“I have something else I must say.”  
Dany’s stomach lurched.  
Here? Now? She was going to do this now?  
Dany knew she must not show fear. She knew that even the anger, licking like flames at her senses, might come across as fear, as though she had something to hide. It was a strain, but she kept her expression clear, showing only a mild curiosity.  
I am the blood of the dragon, she reminded herself. I must be strong. I must not fear.  
“Go on,” she said, forcing calm into her voice.  
Jon had stood as well, taking a step toward his sister. “Sansa,” he said warningly.  
“You are not the true queen. You are not the heir to the Iron Throne.”

*******************************

Jon felt as if the air had been knocked out of him.  
“Sansa!” He repeated, this time a growl, and he looked at Daenerys in wordless apology.  
She warned me, he thought. She told me Sansa would do this.  
The hall had erupted into anger now, and Jon heard the word ‘treason’ uttered more than once.   
Daenerys was holding her wine glass, and anyone might think that she was only feeling pity, curiosity, so trained was her control, by her expression.  
But Jon knew her. And he knew that Sansa’s life was hanging by a thread. That thread was Daenerys’ mercy, and it was fraying by the minute under the storm of her rage.   
If that thread snapped, Sansa would be cinders.  
Jon glanced at Arya, who was staring at Sansa in undisguised horror.  
“Your brother Rhaegar never kidnapped my Aunt Lyanna. They were in love,” Sansa was saying. “Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia Martell.”  
“How dare you,” Princess Arianne Martell stormed, standing. Jon had been so fixed on Daenerys that he’d not noticed the fury on the faces of those beside her, and now he remembered Dany’s warning about the Dornish. “You would suggest my Aunt Elia would delegitimize her own children?” The Princess demanded.   
“It was a secret annulment,” Sansa said.  
“There’s no such thing as a secret annulment,” Sarella Sand interjected, also standing. “Both parties must be present for an annulment to stand. Maybe if my Aunt Elia was a commoner, Rhaegar could get away with such a thing. But she was a Princess. There were children. Unless you wish to further insult my deceased aunt by suggesting she was unfaithful. Or the children weren’t Rhaegar’s. Or that she was mad.”  
Dany fixed Sansa with a cold glare. “Is that what you’re suggesting?” She demanded.  
“It was a...a secret annulment,” Sansa pressed doggedly.  
“My sister is not well,” Jon said. He turned to his guards. “Please escort her back to her chambers.”  
“Do not touch me!” Sansa shrieked at the guards as they moved to take her arms. “I am the Lady of Winterfell.” She turned back to the queen, whose face was an icy mask, concealing the rage that lay beneath it. “Samwell Tarly found a diary-“  
“Do not involve my son in your Northern treachery,” Randyll Tarly thundered, standing. Jon felt pity for Sam, who looked at his father, then his eyes met Jon’s.  
Jon shook his head imperceptibly. By all the gods, the old and the new, Sam, say nothing, he pleaded silently.   
“None of this matters,” Princess Arianne said, her voice a glacier. “King Aerys removed Rhaegar’s children from succession after Rhaegar’s death. I have letters. I can prove it. He named Viserys his heir.”  
Jon felt a sudden and immense relief, so strong that he could have hugged the princess.   
“That’s true,” Jaime Lannister said, standing. “I was there, Your Grace,” he said, turning to Daenerys. “Your father thought your brother Rhaegar was going to try to overthrow him. He named your brother Viserys his heir.”  
“Thank you, Princess, and Ser Jaime, for this information,” Daenerys said, her voice deceptively level. “I do believe that we’ve had more than enough insults and gossip about my brother and my good sister for one evening,” she added, turning to Sansa. “Please return to your quarters and we will discuss this further.” The threat in her voice was unmistakable, and Jon felt cold.   
Daenerys would undoubtedly kill Sansa now, and there was nothing he could do about it.  
“If I may, Your Grace,” Lord Royce said, standing. “Before Lady Sansa leaves, I wish to have a word.”  
Daenerys sighed, and sipped her wine. Jon marveled at her control. “If you must,” she said.  
“Thank you. Lady Sansa, I am ashamed you would do this. Aside from the insult to a queen who has saved so many Northern lives, in the battle against the dead as well as the disaster here at Kings Landing, and aside from the insult to the Princess Elia who is not here to defend herself, have you thought of the insult to your father’s sister? Your Uncle Brandon and your grandfather died for her. We in the Vale joined your father in war. Thousands died, in your Aunt Lyanna’s honor. Because she was kidnapped. And now you stand here and suggest she willingly ran away, betrayed her vow to King Robert, and knowingly split the realm? That all those men died because of her irresponsibility? How would your father feel if he knew his daughter said such a thing of his beloved sister?”  
Sansa was shaking. “I’m telling the truth,” she insisted. She turned to Arya. “Tell them,” she demanded. “You were there, after the battle. Tell them!”  
Arya’s eyes widened. She glanced at Jon.  
Please, Arya, he pleaded with his eyes. You promised me, you swore in the Godswood. You gave me your word.  
“I don’t remember this conversation,” Arya said. “I hit my head in the battle of Winterfell. The next few days are blurry.”  
“You are a liar,” Sansa was yelling now, and Ser Brienne stood.  
“Lady Sansa, why don’t we go back to your room together? We can have some food brought in...?” Her voice broke off in silent question, turning to Daenerys.  
“Of course,” Daenerys said. “I’ll have wine sent as well.”  
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Ser Brienne turned to Sansa, who slumped her shoulders in defeat.   
She followed Ser Brienne out of the hall, looking so broken and defeated Jon could not help but ache for her.   
He looked again at Daenerys, and all sympathy for Sansa vanished.  
As firm as Dany’s armor might be to anyone else, Jon could see that this had taken from her.  
The shine in her eyes, that he’d seen when he’d entered the hall, her almost childlike excitement, was gone, and only the sheen of her polished mask remained. And under that, Jon knew, was fury.  
Sansa had taken Dany’s joy in the evening away from her. He wanted to rush to Dany, to hold her and comfort her until her eyes sparkled again.   
Worse, Sansa had endangered her. It was only the respect Daenerys had earned from the people, that had protected her.  
Jon stood now, in the silence, interrupted only by furious whispers.   
“I apologize, Your Grace, for my sister’s behavior.” He knew the apology was insufficient to make up for what Sansa had done. Why had he told her?   
Dany nodded at him. “Thank you for your apology, Your Grace.”   
In the uncomfortable wake of this, Lady Olenna’s voice sounded like a sudden light in darkness.  
“Lord Tarly,” she said brightly. “You had said once that you’d like to try wine from Yi Ti. As it happens, our queen has provided some for this feast.” She pushed one of the pitchers toward him. “Lord Tyrion has given his approval, and as we know well, he’s quite the expert.”  
“Yes, it’s quite good,” Lord Tyrion obliged, jumping into the silence. 

Slowly, voices began to fill the room again, and the minstrels returned to playing music.   
Jon was watching Daenerys, as if she were the only person in the room. She smiled at people, laughed at jokes, but beneath that, just under the surface, rolled a tightly controlled fury. He’d seen her fury before. He shuddered.   
This was his own fault. He’d trusted Sansa instead of believing Dany. Now there was a good chance Sansa was going to die, and much as it saddened him, he could not and would not harm Daenerys for her. Not this time.

****************************

Arya entered Sansa’s room after the feast. She was sitting, huddled, on her bed. Her face was red from crying, tears still wet on her cheeks. Podrick Payne sat nearby, and Ser Brienne stood by the window, looking out. They nodded in greeting, and she nodded back.  
“What were you thinking?” Arya asked, sitting beside Sansa.   
“You lied. For her,” she hissed.  
“I didn’t lie for her. I lied for Jon. We both swore to him we would never tell anyone.”  
“She’s going to kill me now, just like she wanted.”  
Arya felt a chill at her words. She could not deny that possibility. Daenerys might very well execute Sansa for treason.   
“Why would you do this?” Arya asked in despair. “She was willing to grant the North it’s independence. Don’t you know what will happen now?”

“She’ll murder me, and you’ll just stand there and let her. You said you wouldn’t let her harm me, and now you’re going to stand by as she kills me. All I wanted was to protect the North. To protect myself. Jon would be a great king. He would give us our independence but he wouldn’t let us starve. He wouldn’t force me to marry someone against my will. Now she’s going to burn me alive.”

Arya winced. “You could have tried to talk to her.”  
“Talk to her? I talked to Joffrey. He promised me mercy and then killed father. I talked to Cersei and she and her wretched father made me marry Lord Tyrion. If he’d been a different kind of man I’d have been raped and forced to bear his children. I talked to Littlefinger, and he betrayed me and I did get raped by Ramsey Bolton. She can make all the promises in the world, but it means nothing.”

“Daenerys isn’t like them.”  
“They’re all the same,” Sansa said dully.  
Arya wanted to promise her sister protection, but how could she? She had committed treason, openly, and in front of everyone.  
She couldn’t allow Daenerys to kill Sansa. But she couldn’t stop her, either.   
“Sansa...” she started, her voice low. She’d finally reconnected with her sister. She couldn’t lose her now. “What if I helped you escape? You could go-“  
“I’m not going anywhere except home to Winterfell. I should have known better than to expect loyalty.”  
“Where was your loyalty when you betrayed Jon’s secret?” Arya shot back. “Father died without ever telling anyone-“  
“And father was executed for doing the right thing.”  
Arya sighed. “I’ll go see her. Maybe-“  
“And she’ll tell you lies to make you believe she’s good, but she isn’t.”

Arya didn’t answer. She stood and left the room. She was going to have to confront the Dragon Queen and she dreaded it.

Arya did not want to have to kill this woman who had brought her armies North to save them. Who had let Arya meet her dragons. Who had stumbled, feverish, into the hall at Winterfell to determine the danger to all their armies, then had mounted her dragon and flew across the continent to save them. Who had returned her family’s crown to them.   
Arya had felt some satisfaction when she’d killed before. This would bring her no satisfaction. This would hurt, she knew. She had never truly loved killing, but she hadn’t truly hated it; but tonight she despised it.   
If she was forced to kill Daenerys, she might even despise herself. 

And Jon, she thought suddenly, her stomach in knots. Jon would never forgive her.  
She was angry at Sansa. She had put them all in this situation. 

Arya tried to convince herself that it would be for the best. The queen would die before long, she had said so herself. If she died before killing Sansa...but it was no good. Arya could not make herself believe this would be good in any way.  
She walked through the halls, her mind racing.   
The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives, she thought.   
But Sansa had betrayed her pack, hadn’t she? She’d betrayed Jon’s trust and put the North at risk for war against Daenerys.   
Sansa is family, Arya reminded herself. She felt cold inside. There was no honor in this.   
She would not sneak up on Daenerys. She would not use another face.  
She would approach her honestly and look into her eyes. She would try to reason with her. If that failed...she shuddered.

********************************

Daenerys was angry.  
No, not angry. Anger did not begin to describe the storm raging in her mind. She paced her room, shaking.   
She had done every conceivable thing she could think of, to show Sansa Stark that she was not a monster. 

Not like her father, not a killer, not a Mad Queen.

And none of it had meant anything to her.  
After the party, Tyrion had attempted to explain what Sansa’s state of mind must be, how terrible her life had been.   
Dany didn’t care. Whatever excuses there might be, this was not forgivable. Sansa had known the risk. To Dany, to Jon. 

“She’s a selfish bitch and I don’t care what her excuses are anymore,” she thundered at Tyrion.   
“Your Grace, if you execute her, it could mean war.”  
“Then war it will have to be.”  
Tyrion’s eyes widened. “You would go to war?”  
“If I must. What else would you have me do? Just keep allowing her to commit treason? She endangered my life, Tyrion.”  
“She’s scared-“

“Scared? She didn’t seem scared to me. And even if she was, I’ve gone out of my way to show her that she need not fear me. Maybe it’s time to show her that she’d best fear me.”

“Your Grace-“  
“I’m not forcing you to be here. It’s as I’ve told you before, if you choose to leave my service, you may. Find yourself a monarch to serve who allows treason and abuse. But do not expect me to allow it.”  
Tyron sighed. “You’ve been a merciful queen-“

“No, Lord Tyrion. You mistake me. I’m not a merciful queen. I’m a just queen. And in the interest of justice, I’ve forgiven any number of honest mistakes. But I will not forgive a single act of conscious evil, and that’s what this was.” She began pacing. “Tell me, Lord Tyrion, did you know that my father had taken my brother Rhaegar’s children out of the line of succession?” 

“No, Your Grace. Jaime never told me, I swear it.”  
“What of Varys? Did he know?”  
Tyrion’s face fell. “I can’t say for certain...but I’d guess he did. He was one of your father’s chief advisors.”

Daenerys was struck then by a blinding rage. Varys had betrayed her, tried to poison her in that other life, knowing very well that hers was the stronger claim, and he had certainly never mentioned it in this life. Maybe he wanted a spare king to put on the throne, if Dany ever displeased him.

She picked up one of Cersei’s large glass sculptures of a lion, hurling it across the room.   
Tyrion winced as it smashed into pieces. 

“Why would you work to put a dragon on the throne, when what you wanted was a thing with no fire, no teeth and no claws?” She demanded.

“I...I don’t want that, Your Grace. I just don’t want you to execute Sansa. She made a mistake.”

“Her coming to my council and disrespecting me was a mistake. This was treason. I know you care for her. But for one moment, I need you to use that mind that’s so renowned, and take your heart out of it. Pretend you don’t know either of us. Would you recommend any monarch allow this treachery?”

Tyrion sighed. “To avoid a war-“

“I don’t want a war, Tyrion. I wanted peace. I offered them their independence. They didn’t even have to come here. They could have written. And after everything, if they’d declared independence and asked to borrow the gold until they recovered, don’t you think I’d have loaned it to them?” Tyrion was silent. “I won’t threaten them with war. But I will not tolerate treason, and if they bring battle to me, then war is what they’ll get.”

Tyrion had left the room looking miserable, and Dany could not bring herself to pity him.   
How could he possibly expect her to let this go? Even if she didn’t want to execute Sansa, and now she did, she really did; what could she do? If she allowed one treason it was only a matter of time before there were others. 

Why had she ever come to Westeros? 

She wondered if there was some equivalent of the Wall for women.   
She heard a step behind her, and turned sharply.   
Arya Stark stood before her, eyes like ice as they studied her.  
“How did you get in here?” Dany asked.  
“It’s a talent.” Arya’s voice was clipped, and Dany steeled herself.   
“What do you want?”  
“I won’t let you harm my sister,” Arya said coldly.   
Daenerys sighed, resigned, and lifted her chin. “Then stop me.”  
Arya started a little at that. “Stop you?”  
“Do what you must, Arya.”  
“You want me to kill you?”

“No. I’ll fight you, but we both know you’ll win. I couldn’t beat you at my best. Now, I’m weak, I’m in pain. You got in here without my guards knowing, I’m sure you can get out the same way. My dragons aren’t here, but you’d best act fast.”  
“And one or both of us will die,” Arya said.  
“I’m dying anyway,” Daenerys said.  
“Is that what you want?”

“No. But I won’t be told I must accept what your sister did. She put me in danger. She put Jon in danger. I’ve tried too hard, for far too long, with her. I can’t keep doing it. The lords of Westeros will think I’m weak, and that’s dangerous. And frankly, if I keep allowing this, I am weak. I’m expected to keep making all these allowances for her behavior, while my own actions are measured in every detail. What your sister did is treason. Not only to me, but to your brother. Her king. To your father, who died with that secret, to keep Jon safe. She made that vow of silence in your family’s Godswood, didn’t she? Treason to her Gods too, then. If I’m told I must buy my life from you, one treason at a time, by your sister, I’m telling you I won’t do it. You can come and take it.”

Arya stared at her for a moment, shock and then grudging respect crossing her features. She sat down with a heavy sigh.  
“I don’t want to kill you,” she said. “But I don’t want you to hurt my sister.”  
“That’s for you to decide.”  
“Can you promise not to execute her?”  
“I can’t and I won’t promise that, Arya.”  
“And if I kill you?”

“Then you save your sister. I’m not going to stand here and beg you not to murder me. And I’m not going to allow her to endanger my life because she wants to be the queen of an independent North, while demanding that every other kingdom supports hers. What is my life worth to me, if I have to have it at the price of your sister’s endless treachery? At the threat that she will keep doing this, and I have to lay down and accept it, or you’ll murder me?”  
“If you execute her, there may be a war between the North and South.”  
“So be it.”  
“You want a war?”

“If I wanted a war, I’d have already declared war. I would not have upheld the North’s independence. I had every opportunity to attack the North, and yet I’ve done all I could to preserve peace. But neither you, nor your sister, nor anyone else, has the right to demand that I risk my safety, my life, my claim, every minute of every day, to preserve peace. I’ve tried to meet your sister’s demands wherever I could. I’m finished with that. None of you can demand my life to pay for your peace. If the North wants peace, I’ll not make war with them. If they want war, I’ll give it to them. But what I won’t do is continue to be a hostage to your sister’s ridiculous and treacherous behavior.”

Arya nodded. “I can’t make any excuses for what Sansa did. But if you’ll let me, I’d like to...to try to explain it.”

“You’re welcome to try. I must confess that at this point her motives mean exactly nothing to me. But I’ll hear what you have to say.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“May as well call me by my name,” Daenerys said. “I think we passed formality when you snuck into my room and threatened to murder me.”

A brief flash of a smile crossed Arya’s face, gone as quickly as it appeared.  
“Do you have any ale?”  
“I’ll have some brought in.”


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya and Dany talk, then Jon and Dany talk.  
A council happens to discuss Sansa’s punishment.  
Jon tells Sansa off.  
Some other stuff.  
Some violence near the end of the chapter!   
As always, thank you all so much for reading my fic, and for your kudos and amazing comments! :-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch27 Note
> 
> First, thank you all so much for reading this!  
So this story is about two thirds or three quarters done. I know it seems like, with the throne won and the WW issue resolved, its like, where am I going with this? So I wanted to explain.  
First, I have a Jonerys endgame so I want to build their trust and love back up.  
Second, I felt (and it could just be me) that the way S8 ended, its all disaster on the horizon. I know that no peace ever lasts. But I wanted to end with a reasonable expectation of lasting peace and prosperity. I might fail utterly, but that’s my aim.  
Third, I was disturbed by the lack of info in the show on what was going to happen with Essos. Daario Naharis and his Second Sons might not be able to hold off the slavers, and I want that issue solved.  
Next, I really want to work on Dany finding balance between two opposing forces in her nature; her fierce and ruthless sense of justice, and her almost limitless kindness and compassion.  
Lastly, I wanted to explore some relationships that I thought had awesome potential. So that’s another thing I’d like to cover.  
This is my first fanfic and honestly with work and school and life I haven’t really written fiction in years, so I might fail miserably, but I’ve been having a lot of fun working on this!  
I want to thank you all again so much for reading my fic and for your kudos and comments! I have an ending planned, I promise! We’re on the last leg of this journey and I really hope you all enjoy it! :-)

Chapter Twenty Seven

Daenerys was leaning back in her chair, studying Arya as she spoke.  
She was still angry, but she was glad she’d listened to Arya’s story.  
“I know this doesn’t justify what she did,” Arya finished.  
“No. It doesn’t,” Dany said. 

“But she’s not even herself. She’s broken in some way, and so angry and afraid, she’s not thinking about the consequences of her actions. She’s only thinking of how she can be safe.”

Daenerys nodded thoughtfully. She had been in that position herself, in that other life, and done far worse.  
And I was executed for it, her rage responded.  
Of course Sansa hadn’t burned a city, but what she had done, had put her people at risk for war.  
If Dany was truly as terrible as Sansa believed, then her people would be in serious danger because of her actions.

“If she believes my rule is unsafe, that I’m so evil, it’s a wonder she would care so little for her people, that she would risk a war with me,” Dany said.

“She was wrong,” Arya said.

“Yes. She was. And if I say I must execute her?”

Arya shuddered. “I hope you don’t. But I can’t stop you. I just wanted you to know what was happening with her. It’s like I said, it doesn’t justify her actions. I thought that maybe knowing what made her do it, can help you understand. Not forgive her, but maybe just...not kill her.”

“You can stop me,” Dany reminded her, her voice going cold. She liked Arya, and she certainly did not want to die. But she was not going to seek terms with threats of murder.

Arya sighed deeply. “I came here hoping I wouldn’t have to kill you. But I figured I would if I had to, to protect my sister. The truth is, though, I can’t. Well...I guess I can. But I won’t. You’re right. You shouldn’t be in a position to have to accept abuse from Sansa, because of me making death threats. And you’ve done everything to try to make peace. I really don’t want you to kill my sister. But there would be no honor or justice in killing you. To be honest, I couldn’t live with myself if I did, after all you’ve done.”

Daenerys took a deep breath.  
“I can agree not to execute her. But this must be answered. I can’t allow her to do the things she’s been doing. It will be a threat to my rule, but worse, a threat to my life. I have precious little time as it is, without Sansa endangering what’s left of it.”

“I know,” Arya said, sighing. “What about me?”  
“What about you?”  
“I threatened to kill you.”  
“You did. And I’m frankly tired of your family endangering my life. But I’m going to guess you haven’t done that often.”  
“Threatened to kill you?”  
“Threatened to kill anyone. It seems to me that if you want someone dead, they die.”  
“I didn’t want you dead. I don’t. I was sick over it. If I’d killed you, I would never forgive myself. And Jon would never forgive me.”  
Dany felt hurt pass over her heart at the thought of Jon. What must he be going through right now?  
“You love him still,” Arya noted.  
“I’ll always love him.”  
“But you don’t want to be with him now.”  
“What I want is immaterial. If I marry, I need a husband who will...love me, I guess...”  
“You don’t think he loves you?”  
“I don’t think he loves me as I would need to be loved. And I’m dying. I can’t see that as being good for him. And...” she hesitated. “I don’t trust him.”  
“You don’t trust him?”  
“I don’t mean...” she hesitated, searching for the words. “I don’t think he’s a liar.”  
“You think he would have affairs?”  
“No.”  
“Then what?”  
“It’s hard to explain. I don’t trust him with my heart. The last time I gave it to him, he treated it quite carelessly and shattered it.”  
Arya nodded then. “He told me. He was worried about the relation.”

It was a lot more than that, Dany thought.  
“And now I have reason to worry about it,” Dany said. “He may not like what I’m thinking.”

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that at this point, too many people already know about it to keep it a secret. I said some time ago that this would get out. It will. And it will always be a weapon. Against him. Against me.”

“You were right about the Dornish.”

“They’re angry about the annulment. They’ll be angry about Rhaegar marrying a second wife, but perhaps not as much. Aegon the conqueror married both his sisters. It’s happened before in my family. We could leave the annulment out all together if he decided to share his story.”

Arya looked thoughtful now. “You think he should let people know?”

“I didn’t think he should before I took the throne, unless he wanted it himself. It’s not particularly safe, even now, for me to have people aware of a male heir, regardless of succession, and regardless of how he feels about it. If I’m dead and he’s the last of our name, my father’s removing Rhaegar’s children from succession is irrelevant. He’s next in line. He’s also my heir, and has been since I dictated my will. If there are those who want a male ruler badly enough, they’ll kill me to get me out of the way. But having someone reveal it, just to put me in danger, isn’t safe either, and now that Sansa did what she did, it won’t be long before people piece it together.”

“So are you going to make some kind of announcement?”

“Not unless it’s what Jon wants. I don’t know if he’s ready. This is his choice. I won’t take that choice from him. He...he always wanted to be a Stark. I don’t know how he’s dealing with being a Targaryen. He should only tell the people if and when he’s ready. But leave out the annulment. That’s where he would run into issues with Dorne.”

“Won’t some people refuse to acknowledge a second marriage?” Arya asked, frowning.

“The same people who wouldn’t recognize a marriage among close relatives, I would imagine, which bastardizes most of my family anyway,” Dany said, shrugging. “Technically then, Rhaegar’s children are among the very few legitimate children in my family.”

Arya started to laugh then. “That would be weird for him.”  
“It would, wouldn’t it?”  
“Targaryens do what they want anyway,” Arya said, and Daenerys laughed again. 

“I suppose we do. There may be some grumbling from the Septons. Maegor Targaryen was sent into exile for five years over taking another wife. But it was so long ago, and Rhaegar and both his wives are gone now.” 

“So...what will you do about Sansa?”

“I don’t know yet. I have to discuss it with my advisors. Before you came into my room, I was wondering if there’s a thing like the Wall for women.”

“You were? Then why didn’t you just tell me that when I threatened you?”

“Because I can’t just allow people to think threatening my life will get the results they want.”

Arya grinned at her. “Maybe you are a little mad.”

“Maybe just a little.” Dany smiled faintly.

Arya’s face grew serious. “I’m sorry for threatening you. I didn’t want to hurt you. You saved us in the battle with the dead-“

“I’m fairly certain it was you who saved us in the battle with the dead.”

“I would never have gotten that far if you hadn’t been there with your dragons and armies. Jon said you had a plan to evacuate Westeros and lure the dead into Kings Landing to burn their army. You didn’t have to come North. And you’ve shown in every way that you’re a good queen. Are you going to...do something? About me threatening you?”

“It’s like I said, if you wanted to kill me I’d have been dead hours ago. But I do have an idea for how you could make it up to me. If you’re willing.”

“What is it?”

“Train with me. Ser Jorah, my Unsullied, even my Dothraki, who were fearless before...they’ll do it, but they’re scared. They’re too gentle with me now. They’re afraid of hurting me, because I’m in pain all the time. I suppose it doesn’t help that I keep bleeding. But I’m weaker than I’ve ever been, and I don’t want to be helpless. If you could get into my room, another assassin might. One who actually wants to kill me. And they won’t stand around talking to me. They’ll kill me.”

Arya shuddered. “You’re right about that.” She glanced around the room, as if her eyes were registering every possible point of entry. “I’m going to take a measure of your room tomorrow, so it can be guarded better. I don’t want you to be murdered. But yes, I’ll train with you.”

Dany smiled. “Thank you, Arya.” She drank some of her wine. “So...you’ve told me much of Sansa’s story. What’s yours?”

“Mine?”

“I don’t know much about you at all.”

Arya shifted uncomfortably. “I’m pretty sure I’ve talked more in the last two hours than I have in the last two years.”

“You don’t like talking about yourself.”

“I really don’t like talking at all.”

Dany laughed. “That’s fair. I don’t want to make you feel pressured.”

“I want to know your story,” Arya admitted. “How you got dragons. How you freed people. How you got the Dothraki to follow you.”

“Maybe we can take turns?”

Arya nodded. “All right.”

************************************

Jon was livid. Sansa had betrayed his trust, just as she had in that other life, just as Dany had warned him she would.  
Jon desperately wanted to see Daenerys, but he had to see the Northern lords first. He could not bring himself to speak to Sansa yet. He was far too angry, and feared he might physically harm her.  
The lords and ladies had gathered after the feast to have more ale and discuss what had happened.  
Jon entered the room where they stood, and they watched him anxiously.  
“Your sister may very well be executed,” Lord Manderly said.  
Jon nodded, pouring himself some ale. “Aye,” he said grimly. 

“I don’t want us to be in a war with Queen Daenerys. We’ve all seen what her dragons and armies can do. Most of Westeros would be against us. And she helped to save our home and our lives. She saved our children. It would be a war with no honor, and we would be destroyed. What do you think we should do?”

“I’m going to meet with the queen in the morning. If there’s any way to save Sansa’s life, I’ll try. But what she did...” he shook his head. “This cannot be overlooked.”  
“Why did she do it?” Manderly asked.

“She was angry. She was scared. But there’s no justifying it. She put the queen’s rule and her life in danger,” Jon said grimly. “We’ve leaned on Queen Daenerys’ kindness for too long. Sansa has pushed this too far.”

“If the queen executes your sister, will you declare war against her?” Manderly asked nervously.

Jon shuddered. “I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that. But I will not consider declaring an unjust war, particularly one that we can’t win. I hope my sister can be allowed to live. But she’s made her choice.” He looked at Manderly, then at the other lords and ladies, a warning in his face.

“Your Grace,” Manderly continued, “we received a raven. The smallfolk voted in favor of fealty to the queen. We all know that a large part of that was because of your recommendation. What Lady Sansa did tonight endangered all the North. Even if what she said is true, and there’s some Targaryen heir hidden away somewhere, this is something Lady Sansa should have discussed privately with you and the queen. Instead, she announced it at a feast to try to undermine the queen. And it was dangerous. What if someone decided to assassinate her? She came North to save us, was poisoned in our king’s home, flew to Kings Landing to save us and our armies, then granted us independence. Lady Sansa made us look ungrateful and without honor. Worse, what if Queen Daenerys becomes angry with the North and declares war against us herself?”

“She won’t,” Jon said. “That I know. If we declare war against her, she’ll crush us, but she won’t begin a war against us.” 

“But she could have,” Lord Manderly insisted. “I am hoping the queen will not execute Lady Sansa. But if she does, we cannot afford to go to war.”

There was a murmur of agreement, and Jon was satisfied for now. He would not raise an army against Daenerys. Even if they had a chance of winning, he would not war with her. If the North had decided otherwise, he would have to leave the North and declare for Dany.

Sansa had been given every opportunity to keep peace, and had thrown that away. He was afraid for her. He did not want her to die. But he would not turn away from Dany again.

Once Jon was certain that his lords would not be eager to go to war to defend Sansa, he felt that he could go to Dany.

He had no idea what he would say to her. Apologize again?  
No doubt she was tired of his apologies.  
Beg for Sansa’s life? She might see that as evidence of his inability to put her first.  
He found her chambers, and nodded at the two Dothraki guards outside her door.  
He knocked, and waited. He could hear voices inside, and frowned, knocking again.  
“Come in,” Dany called.  
He entered with some trepidation, ready to face her fury, but she and Arya were sitting at her table, drinking. 

“And then he said, ‘I understand that if any more words come pouring out your cunt mouth, I'm gonna have to eat every fucking chicken in this room’,” Arya was telling Daenerys, who was leaning toward her, her eyes wide and riveted. 

Jon stepped closer, and both women turned to him, smiling in welcome.  
“Your Grace,” Dany greeted him. “Come and sit. Do you want some wine?”  
“There’s ale, too,” Arya offered.  
Jon could only stand and stare at them for a moment.  
“What’s going on?” He asked.  
“We’re talking. Drinking, mostly, but talking too,” Dany said. 

Arya saw Jon’s expression, and stood. “I suppose you will want to speak alone.” She turned to Dany. “Your Grace, we can start tomorrow if you’re up to it. If not, whenever you’re ready.”  
“Thank you,” Dany said to Arya. “I want to hear the rest of this story.”  
Arya grinned. “I’ll finish next time.” She turned her smile on Jon. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
Jon watched Arya leave the room, then sat down.  
“She came here to drink with you?”  
“She came here to plead your sister’s case. The drinking happened as a side consequence.”

Jon hesitated now. He didn’t want her to think for one minute that Sansa was his primary concern. Certainly not after what they’d all done to Dany in that nightmare vision.  
“What did you decide?” He asked cautiously.

“I haven’t decided yet. There’s no option like the Wall for women, and I hesitate to execute her. I wanted to. I wanted to burn her alive.” Jon tried to hide his wince. “I know. She’s your sister and you disapprove of my method of execution. But I’m being honest. I was angry. I’m still angry. I don’t think I’m wrong to be angry, Jon, and I don’t care-I can’t care-if you think I am-“

“You’re not. She was wrong.” 

Dany seemed to relax a little at that. “I’m not going to execute her,” she repeated. “You know I understand, maybe too well, how it is to become overwhelmed by grief and heartbreak, rage and fear. How easy it is to do something terrible when you can’t see any other way. But Jon, I can’t let this go unpunished. She’s gone too far this time.”

“I know, Dany. You were right. You asked me, in the vision, not to tell her.” He saw something like anger flash in her eyes, and he could hear the echo in his mind, of her voice.  
Please don’t do this.  
After all he’d asked of her, all it cost her, he couldn’t do the one thing she’d asked of him. He started to apologize, but knew that might anger her further.  
“It doesn’t matter now,” she said. “I didn’t ask you this time.”

“But you warned me she would do this.”

To his surprise, she suddenly laughed. It was a bitter laugh, but still a laugh. “She was angry at me for saying that,” she said. “For saying she would break her word to you, to take me out of the situation.” Then sadness crossed her face. “We had conversations. I didn’t think she hated me still.”

“She doesn’t hate you.”  
“She clearly does. I don’t care anymore.”  
Jon sighed. He suspected she did care, that it hurt her, but her rage had obliterated that in its incendiary wake.  
“What were you thinking for a punishment?” Jon asked.  
“I don’t know. I thought of leaving it to you. You’re her king. But I can’t do that if you’re going to do nothing. My reign is new. It’s fragile. I can’t allow this to stand.”  
“I would do something...but what?”  
“Maybe tomorrow morning we can sit with our advisors and discuss it.” She stood. “I imagine you want to go assure Sansa that I won’t be burning her.”  
“No,” Jon said, standing with her. “I want to stay here. With you. I saw you at the feast...you looked so happy and excited. And then after Sansa did what she did, your eyes lost their light. You smiled still, you laughed with people. But the sparkle was gone. I wanted to hold you. It hurt so much to see her actions douse that light. So little makes you happy now. You deserve to be happy.”

Her face softened, and she smiled sadly. “How are you feeling?” She asked.  
“Me? I’m fine.”  
“Are you? We never really got to talk all that much about your parentage. About how you were feeling. Now Sansa used your identity as a weapon against me. Are you really fine?”

“I’m angry at her. I was relieved that I’m not in the succession. That should keep you safe, shouldn’t it?”

“Sadly, no. If I die, you’re still the last of our family. It could still be a motive to get me out of the way. Have you thought about just telling people?”

“No,” he said immediately. “Dany, I would rather die than put you in danger.”

“Jon...now that Sansa did this, I’m going to be in danger anyway. Sometimes whispers are more dangerous than what is known. It’s easier to use as a weapon.”

Jon smiled bitterly. “Tyrion said once...a long time ago...never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt you. That’s what he said.”  
“He’s a wise man.”  
“And don’t think he doesn’t know it.”  
Dany sat back down, and Jon pulled his chair closer to hers, sitting beside her.  
“Jon, forget about the danger to me for a few minutes. What if-“  
“I can’t forget about the danger to you,” he said fiercely. “I allowed myself to forget it in that other life. To ignore it. To deny it. And I lost you.” 

“I lost me, too,” she said softly. They were quiet for a few minutes. He reached for her, and she took the hand he offered. “Let me put this a different way,” she went on. “Sansa’s actions tonight have made the danger to me inevitable. What I want to talk about is you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Aside from the danger. How do you feel about other people knowing your parentage?”

He sighed. “I found out at a very complicated time,” he said.  
Daenerys suddenly started laughing, and Jon looked at her, surprised.  
“A little,” she managed, before she started laughing again.  
Jon found himself laughing too. He looked at her face, the candlelight on her silver hair, her smile.  
Gods, her laughter was intoxicating.  
When their laughter subsided, she turned her chair so she was facing him, and took both his hands in hers.  
“You found out who your parents were. But you’ve always known who you are.”

“I was Ned Stark’s bastard. Now I’m a Targaryen. All that knowing this did, was to make me feel ashamed of the one thing that made me happy...made me feel alive...since I died.” He remembered then what Sarella Sand had said. “I’m not even a Targaryen. I’m a Snow. Or...Sand? If the annulment isn’t valid, then-“

“No,” Daenerys said, and her eyes were suddenly fierce. “Their marriage still stands. Other men in our family have done it. You’re their legitimate child. Your father claimed you as his own...But it really doesn’t matter. Everything you made of yourself, you did as a Snow. Your name doesn’t make you. You know this. You make your name.”

“My name...” he said bitterly.  
“You’re more than your name. I have to believe that. If I didn’t, what would I be? My father’s daughter.”  
Jon looked at her. “You are not like your father.”  
Dany sighed. “I know it’s in me to be like him. I can’t forget what I did in that vision.”  
“You shouldn’t forget all the good you’ve done, either.”  
“I know,” she said. “I haven’t. That’s the struggle, always. My father was terrible. I know the things he did. Evil things. I have been trying to learn more about our family. All the good things, and all the evil things they’ve done. I’ve been reading books. I knew so little before coming here, about our family’s history.”  
Jon laughed a little at that. “In Westeros, children are raised on stories of Targaryens. When we played, we picked favorite Targaryens and pretended to be them.”

“And you were one of us the entire time.”

“Aye,” he said. “I don’t know if you’ve gotten this far in your reading, but Targaryens spent generations trying to hatch dragon eggs. To bring them back.”

“They would not have lost the dragons if they hadn’t warred with each other,” Daenerys said. “After the Dance of Dragons, the only ones left were small, and they died too early. There are only two of us left, and only three of them. I will never war with you over the throne. Never.”

“Nor I with you.” He stroked her hand with his thumb. “You’ll have nine dragons before long.”

“And perhaps one day you’ll have children. And our House will be restored.”

Jon froze. She had said ‘you’ll’ have children. Not ‘we’.  
“I don’t want anyone else.”  
“Jon, I’ll never know if our child in that life would have lived. Conception doesn’t mean he or she would have survived. I don’t know if I can have children. And I don’t think I’ll be around long enough to try again.”  
Jon gripped her hands fiercely. “Dany, if you die-“  
“If I die, you’re my heir. You have to choose at some point what name you want. You’ve accomplished everything you have, as Jon Snow. Maybe you want to keep that name. It’s meaningful. Your father-Ned Stark, I mean-he named you after Jon Arryn. Jon Arryn was a second father to him, as Ned Stark was a father to you.”  
The breath left Jon, thinking about that, his chest constricting in grief.  
“Aye,” he finally managed.  
“And now you know your true name. Aegon Targaryen, sixth of your name. You can choose to use that name too. The name your parents gave you.”  
Jon sighed. “My parents who split the realm with their love.”

“After the whole experience with Varys and the wildfire, we can’t be too certain that your parents never sent any ravens, Jon. They may have been intercepted. And whether my father knew or not, his actions started the war more than anything. You are a king. Can you imagine murdering a father and brother for coming to you about their missing daughter?”

“No,” Jon said, shuddering in horror. 

“Your mother may very well have sent ravens to your grandfather, that were intercepted. I’ve found out much about her. She was a fierce lady. Why should she submit to a forced marriage? I stand by her decision. I don’t know how I’d enforce it without being tyrannical, but I’d like to see the abolition of forced marriages.”

“She knew my father was married.”

Dany sighed. “Yes. If you decide to share your parentage, we should leave out the annulment and focus on my brother’s wanting more children. A second marriage may rankle Dorne, but an annulment will push them into rage. And we also need to emphasize our recent experience with ravens being intercepted. We have no way to know if they sent ravens, but we can make known the possibility. It will mitigate the idea that they were irresponsible in their choice.”

“You want me to share this information now?”

“I want you to do what feels right for you. I wanted it to be a secret because I didn’t want to be murdered. I wanted the throne, but I’m not willing to have another Dance of Dragons. We are the last of our family. I will not throw away our future. But now...people will talk anyway. And your identity should never have been a cyvasse piece for Sansa and myself to move across a board. I’m sorry for my part in that.”

Jon tightened his hold on her hands. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were only trying to protect yourself from assassination. She’s the one who used it as a weapon.”

“She thinks she’s trying to protect herself.”

“From a queen who’s only helped her and her people.”

“She doesn’t trust me. Maybe she never will. She’ll have to face consequences for what she did, and I can not forgive her; but looking at only motives, we both wanted to protect ourselves. I have reasons for my own fears in this, and it’s true her reasons are unfounded, but they feel real to her. And whatever our reasons, we both tried to control your choice with regard to your name. I want to know now what you want.”

“Dany, you asked me to keep silent in that life because your allies had been murdered, my people acted utterly without honor toward you, and you had every reason to believe you would be in danger. And you were right. As soon as Varys found out, he tried to conspire with me and poison you. In this life, you gave me the choice from the beginning.”

She smiled at him sadly. “And you’re still not sure.”

Jon sighed. “I hate lying. But all I ever wanted was to be a Stark. And now...”

“You are a Stark, Jon. As much as you’re a Targaryen. And what that means, will be what you make it mean. As long as we’re alive, that coin never really lands. Every day we must choose. Not just between greatness and madness, but between good and evil, between right and wrong. That’s for everyone, not only our family.”

“Aye, you’re right about that.” He remembered a conversation he’d had with Theon Greyjoy.  
You don’t have to choose. You’re a Greyjoy. And you’re a Stark. 

“Whatever name you choose, you are a good man. It’s because of you, more than anyone, that Westeros is not a graveyard right now. You brought us all together. I don’t think you’ve ever done a selfish thing in your life.”

“You.”

“What?”

“Being with you. It was the most selfish thing I’ve ever done. I thought I was a bastard. You were a queen. I never thought I could be worthy.”

“You’re a King,” she reminded him.

“Dany, you might be the best thing that’s ever happened to Westeros. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to Essos.”

“I’m sure the slavers would disagree.”

“Fuck them,” he said, earning a giggle from her. “Tyrion told me in that other life...everywhere you go, evil men die. And it’s true. But it’s also true that everywhere you go, good men thrive. You are a gift to this world, and I love you for all of that. But Dany, before I go to sleep at night, it’s not that I’m thinking about. It’s your laugh. It’s your mouth. It’s the way your body felt against mine. The way your hair smells. Your eyes. The way you can make me smile when I don’t think anything can. It’s that...physically, Melisandre resurrected me. But Dany, you brought me back to life.”

She was smiling at him, her eyes so soft now, so loving, and he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her, carry her to her bed and take her. But she looked so pale and fragile, he didn’t dare.

“The smallfolk voted in favor of fealty to you,” he said, and her eyes widened. “I am fairly sure the lords and ladies will do the same.”

She sighed. “It’s what I wanted...”

“I know. That’s why I wanted to tell you.”

“But...all the people who’ve followed me, followed me because they chose me. This has been so important to me. To be the Queen they chose. They called me Mhysa in Yunkai. It means mother. I want to serve my people, not only rule them. I don’t want to rule people by force. And the North has been quite clear about their feelings with regard to me.”

“They chose,” Jon said. “They chose you.”

“They chose fealty because they don’t wish to starve. I can’t pay the debt or give much aid for independent kingdoms because I need to be prioritizing the kingdoms that have chosen me to lead them.”

“I know, Dany, you don’t have to-“

“But I will loan it to you.”

He stared at her. “Loan it to me?”

“I’ll loan you the gold so you can pay the Iron Bank and buy supplies. Lord Willas says that it’s too cold in the North now to rebuild your glass gardens, but once it’s warmer I’ll lend you the gold to do it. Then when you recover you can pay me back.”

“Dany...”

“Let them know this, and have them vote again. Even if their independence makes no physical difference in their lives, it’s still important. For their spirit. Their morale. I don’t want them to have to sacrifice something they hold dear because they want to feed their children.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he finally said, his voice hoarse. “I don’t know how to repay you.”

She laughed. “Repay me. Once the realm recovers.”

“If they don’t choose you, they’re fools.”

“No they aren’t. That would mean they chose you.” She smiled teasingly. “I chose you, too. Remember?”

He winced. Aye, she’d chosen him. And he’d thrown it away. He was the fool.

“Dany...” he broke off, seeing her face pale. “What’s wrong?”

Dany sighed deeply. “I must rest, Jon. I’m in pain. I’m sorry.” She stood, and he stood as well, lifting her into his arms and carrying her to the bed, laying her down tenderly. He pressed his lips to her forehead, kissing it.  
“You feel hot,” he told her.  
“I’m always hot.”  
He knew that was true, and the memory of their lovemaking suddenly filled his mind. Her heat, her sweetness. How wanton she’d been, how she’d devoured his mouth, his cock. His heart and soul.  
“I love you,” he said.  
She smiled up at him, already drifting into sleep. “I love you,” she murmured. She fell asleep still smiling, and Jon sat at the edge of the bed, stroking her hair. 

**********************************

Sansa was staring at the ceiling of her room. She would be punished now for telling the truth. She would no doubt be burned alive by Daenerys’ dragons. No one had stood by her, stood up for her. There was a coldness that had settled deeply into her stomach, and she shivered.  
“Do you want another blanket?” Podrick asked.  
She glanced at him, at his kind, earnest face.  
He and Ser Brienne had urged her to eat, to have some wine.  
Maester Lomys had come in and offered her some milk of the poppy, but she’d refused it. She didn’t fear poison; surely that would be better than burning alive. But she didn’t want to be sent to a trial in which she was too dull minded to defend herself.  
After a time, Podrick had begun singing to soothe her. He’d been attentive and gentle.  
“No. Thank you, Podrick.”  
He flushed. “You’re welcome.”  
She nodded. She’d cried for hours, falling asleep and dreaming of Lady, of father, mother and Robb. Of Rickon. She woke up weeping, and as much as Podrick and Ser Brienne tried to console her, the icy terror and aching nausea would not recede. 

Arya entered the room, knocking as she opened the door, greeted Ser Brienne and Podrick, and sat down beside Sansa on the bed.  
“How are you feeling?” She asked.  
“How do you think I’m feeling?”  
Arya sighed. “Daenerys isn’t going to execute you.”  
“How do you know?”  
“She told me.”  
“And you believe her?”  
“She wasn’t lying, Sansa. I threatened to kill her and she didn’t-“  
“You threatened to kill her?” Sansa sat up straight, and Ser Brienne turned to them sharply.  
“Arya!” Ser Brienne exclaimed.  
“Did you? Kill her?” Sansa demanded.  
“No.”  
“You threatened to kill her, and then didn’t? Seven hells, Arya! She’ll execute both of us.”

“She’s not going to. At this point she’d be in her rights to,” Arya said, frowning. 

“Why did you threaten to kill her?” Ser Brienne asked. “You could not have possibly thought that would make things better.”

“I didn’t. I just wanted to protect Sansa.”

“And what did she say?” Sansa demanded. 

“She said to go ahead and do it. That she wasn’t going to be held hostage by your actions and my threats.” Arya was smiling faintly.

“You admire her,” Sansa accused.  
“It’s hard not to. I asked her to let me at least explain what was going on with you.”  
“What’s going on with me?”  
“Yes. And we just talked. I apologized for threatening her, and agreed to train with her.”  
“Train with her?” Ser Brienne echoed.

“For fighting. If someone tries to murder her because of Sansa’s indiscretion.” She turned back to Sansa. “And then she said that at first she wanted to execute you. She’s not going to, but if you do something to harm her again, Sansa, she will. And my threats or the threat of war with the North will not sway her. There won’t be anything anyone can do.”

“And you’ll just let her.”

“I can’t stop her. And if you keep trying to harm her, and she decides to execute you for it, it wouldn’t be right to kill her. She has the right to defend herself, Sansa. I know you don’t trust anyone. I understand. But she’s done everything she could to show that she isn’t going to hurt us, or the North. She should not have to allow herself to be endangered. She is who she is. If you keep pushing at her, she has the right to push back, and she will.”

“So what is she going to do?”  
“She doesn’t know yet. She’s going to discuss it with her advisors.”  
Sansa pulled her knees to her chest. She wanted to be relieved, but she couldn’t. She knew well that there were things worse than death.  
“She’ll marry me off to some lord to get me away from her and out of the North.”  
“She won’t marry you to any lord. She was sold into marriage herself. She won’t do that to anyone.”  
“She was?”  
Arya nodded. “She ended up falling in love with her husband. A witch murdered him and their baby. So she tied the witch to her husband’s funeral pyre. She put her dragon eggs with him, too, and then walked into the fire. That’s how she hatched her dragons.”  
Sansa stared at her. “How do you know this?”  
“She told me.”  
“She’s mad.”  
Arya laughed. “A little. Maybe. But she’s not evil. I’m not asking you to trust her. I’m asking you to stop trying to harm her. I don’t want to lose you, Sansa. I love you. I feel like we finally got each other back, and you’re all but begging her to kill you.”

Sansa felt a lump form in her throat. “I just want to be safe.”

“You know she has dragons. You’ve seen her armies. If you thought she was like Cersei, you couldn’t have possibly thought what you did would be safe. And what if she executed you, and the North declared war on her? What would have happened to the North then?”

Sansa shuddered. “I wanted Jon to be the king. So we could freely choose independence without the threat of starving.”

“But you-“

“I can’t believe you’re lecturing me about this, when you threatened to murder her. I’m pretty sure that could have gotten you executed. And Jon would be a lot more likely to war with her over killing you than me.”

Arya sighed. “I went there thinking I could do it. Kill her. I wanted to protect you.”

“It was pretty stupid. If you’d killed her, do you really think nobody would piece together why?” 

“I guess it was pretty stupid,” Arya said. “But she needs to set up her Queensguard. She has guards at her door, but it’s not enough. There are other ways to get into her room. I’m going to go in there tomorrow and bar any other entryways.”

Sansa studied her. “You went in there to murder her. And now you’re going to bar the other entryways in her room to protect her, and train with her to improve her fighting.”

Arya nodded, smiling crookedly. “She’s persuasive. Are you hungry? There are still lemon cakes, I saw them.” 

Sansa winced. “I don’t like them anymore.”

Arya looked at her, and her eyes were tender. She reached for her hand. 

They sat in silence, holding hands, drawing comfort from the contact. 

“She’s not our family,” Arya said finally, her voice soft. “But she’s Jon’s family. And he’s our family. He loves her. You don’t trust her, and I understand that. But I don’t think she trusts you either, and she’s not trying to harm you.”

“I didn’t think Cersei was trying to harm us at first either. Or Joffrey.”

“I know. But you’re making the same mistake now with Daenerys that you made with them.”

“My mistake was trusting them.”

“Your mistake was trusting them when their actions should have shown you not to. With Daenerys, you’re actively trying to undermine her when her actions have shown you that she’s not going to harm you unless you put her in a position where she has no choice.”

“Baelish rescued me from Kings Landing. He killed Joffrey. I thought I could trust him. I can’t just trust her, I need to know what her motives are.”

“Then don’t trust her. But be smart about it. I told Jon you were the smartest person I ever met. Marching into the feast and publicly telling her that she’s not the rightful queen...that was not smart.”

“And sneaking into her room and threatening to murder her was a stroke of political genius.”

“It’s not like I did it publicly, so she’s forced to act. She knows if I really wanted to kill her she’d be dead already.”

Sansa felt her eyelids growing heavy. “I need to sleep,” she said. “Are you going to stay?”

“I’ll stay.”

Sansa drifted into sleep, curling closer to her sister for comfort. 

***********************************

Daenerys had a headache, and all she wanted was to sleep the entire day away.  
She dragged herself out of bed and cursed under her breath. She had to dress, and sit with Jon and their advisors, to discuss Sansa Stark.  
Why was the red wolf so determined to trouble her at every turn?  
She could understand mistrust. But this was intentional sabotage.  
The rage from the night before, battled viciously in her mind, with the reluctant memory of what she herself had done when she’d felt alone, and full of rage and grief and fear.  
Not that anyone had bothered to comfort her when she was utterly broken in that other life, she thought bitterly.  
She broke her fast with porridge, lost in thought.  
When she arrived in the council chambers, her advisors, as well as Jon and his own advisors, had already gathered. They stood as she entered.

“Good Morning,” she greeted, sitting down.  
There was a murmur of greeting, and everyone else took their seats. “Thank you all for coming. I’m sure you’re all very aware of the subject of this council.”

“Lady Sansa Stark has committed treason, endangered the rule and the life of you, our queen, and should be executed,” Randyll Tarly said.

“Some would argue that you should have been executed for betraying the Tyrells,” Lord Tyrion told him. 

“And that you should have been executed for writing to your sister and betraying our queen’s location, resulting in her poisoning,” Randyll Tarly shot back. “And Lord Varys as well for intercepting her ravens.

Daenerys took a deep breath. “I’m not going to execute her,” she said, and tried not to be irritated by the relief on Tyrion’s face. “But I can’t let this go, either. I’ve asked you all to come here so we might discuss the most appropriate punishment. I’ve suggested to King Jon that it might be best for him to enact the punishment, as he’s her king.”

“He’s her brother. He won’t punish her,” Randyll Tarly argued.

“This bickering is getting us nowhere,” Ser Davos interjected. “Let’s talk about what’s to be done.”

“She must be stripped of her lands and titles,” Sarella Sand remarked. “She’s demonstrated that she’s unconcerned with the well being of the realm and of her own kingdom. Her actions could have led to a coup against our queen. It could have led to our queen executing her, and the North declaring war. If something were to happen to King Jon, she’s first in line for the Northern crown. She’s willing to commit acts of war to win an independence that wasn’t even being challenged.”

“I wouldn’t say she committed an act of war,” Tyrion said cautiously. 

“She committed an act that could have led to war,” Sarella clarified. “Again, for an independence that had already been granted.”

Daenerys and Jon glanced at each other. 

“She’ll be stripped of her title as Lady of Winterfell,” Jon agreed. “Is this to be permanent?”

“Generally stripping of titles is permanent, but that’s for you and the queen to decide,” Sarella said. 

Daenerys sighed. “King Jon once told me that the world we need is a world of mercy. I can’t disagree, but we also need a world of justice. Sansa Stark gathered the stores for the North. She was kind to me when I was poisoned, she sent a raven for me to warn the armies of the wildfire-at least she tried to-and she helped me get ready to leave when I had to fly to Kings Landing. But she also arrived here and accused me of trying to force the North into submission because I refused to pay the debts of an independent kingdom, and attempted to delegitimize my reign. We know she’s been a capable leader before, but what she’s done since arriving in Kings Landing has not demonstrated this capability. We will strip her of her title but allow her the opportunity to earn it back.”

“And if she’s stripped of her title but can earn it back, it will be meaningless if there’s no other punishment,” put in Randyll Tarly.

“I agree,” Lady Olenna put in. “I once liked Sansa Stark. I met her years ago here in Kings Landing and attempted to have her marry my grandson Loras. She was a terrified little thing, and abused here quite badly. Our queen is well within her rights to execute her, and I would have stood by her if she did, but I’m glad she decided not to. I think the poor girl is reliving her past and can’t seem to get herself out of it. But that does not give her the right to do the things she’s done. There needs to be some other punishment.”

“She could join the Silent Sisters. Or the Septas,” offered Sarella. 

“Or perhaps because her actions could have caused war, she could do some work in service to widows and orphans of war,” added Lord Willas.

“She could help teach people to read,” Tyrion said. “That library will be ready in another few moons.”

“She’s not going to want to stay in Kings Landing,” Daenerys said. “But I’ll add it to the list of choices.”

“Choices?” Sarella asked.

“I’m going to list a few of these and let her choose one,” Daenerys said.

“You are too benevolent, Your Grace,” Lord Tarly said, frowning.

“It seems to me you live by the grace of her benevolence,” Lady Olenna observed.

“Indeed,” Tarly agreed. “But I didn’t know her when I fought against her. Now that I’ve seen the queen she is, I would do nothing that could harm her. Sansa Stark has been given ample opportunity to see what she is. Queen Daenerys saved the Northern kingdom and the Starks’ home, at great risk to herself and at no gain. The North, and particularly Sansa Stark, is still whinging about independence while demanding aid from our queen. And now she’s decided to either invent some story or dig up information that could harm a queen who has done nothing but good since she set foot in Westeros.”

“Our smallfolk have voted fealty, and I’m fairly sure the lords and ladies will do the same,” Jon said. 

“Well perhaps some of you have some shred of honor, then,” Lord Tarly said.

“And sense,” added Lady Olenna.

“Does anyone else have suggestions?” Daenerys asked. Her stomach was burning, and she could taste blood at the back of her mouth. She wanted to rest. 

They looked at each other blankly.

“None that you’d consider,” Tarly said ominously, and Dany couldn’t help but appreciate the fierceness of his loyalty.

“All right. She will be stripped of her title with the provision she may earn it back in one year’s time-“

“You should make it five years, unless she does something truly exceptional sooner,” Tarly said.

“I would appreciate it if you would not interrupt our queen while she’s speaking,” Lady Olenna told him. “But I agree, five years is better.”

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Lord Tarly said.

Daenerys nodded at him, and then sighed. “Fine. Five years. And she may choose any of the options listed, to serve her sentence.” She stood. “If no one else has any concerns, I’m going to go rest.”

She waited, and as the others in the room had stood with her but offered nothing further, she turned and left, walking back to her room. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

********************************

Jon would have to see Sansa, to tell her what had been decided.  
He was still angry at her. He was thinking about that other life now, how Sansa had betrayed him for her own ends. And then they all abandoned him. Yes, they fought to keep him alive, but after that they sent him right back to the Wall. His identity only a pawn to obliterate Daenerys and ruin his life. Then they exiled him, his identity suddenly meaningless.

How proud Catelyn Stark would have been in that life, had she lived to see it. Her son a king, her daughter a queen, her other daughter a captain and the bastard in exile. 

And Dany, who’d given him everything she had, was destroyed utterly, with nothing of her left; then betrayed and murdered.

He would never put anyone before her again. He had thought then, in that other life, when she’d come North with her dragons to rescue them, that he knew what she was. That she would be a good queen.

Now he knew he’d barely scratched the surface of what she was. On that ship when they’d lain together telling each other their stories, he had been in awe of her. 

But now, even having seen what she’d seen, she had come to save them anyway. She could have made any number of self serving choices. But she hadn’t.

Sansa had betrayed him in that life, the same as this one. He was angry, so angry.

He approached her door and knocked.  
“Come in,” her voice called, and he entered. 

Sansa was sitting on her bed. She was pale, her eyes still red from weeping. Arya sat next to her, looking at Jon warily. 

“You’ll be stripped of your title,” he told Sansa coldly, without preamble. “Daenerys, being the person she is, will make this a five year provisional sentence, rather than permanent. You may earn back your title in that time. During the five years, you’ll be given a list of options you can choose during your sentence.”

Sansa shuddered. “And the smallfolk voted for fealty. The lords and ladies will do the same, and she’ll get just what she wanted.”

“You think this is what she wanted?” Jon demanded. “For an ungrateful bitch who only lives because of her, to publicly humiliate and endanger her?”

Sansa’s eyes widened, and now she glared at him. “For the North to swear fealty.”

“I’m going to tell you something. She said she would loan me the gold to pay the Iron Bank and buy supplies. And when Spring comes, she’ll loan me the gold to rebuild the glass gardens. We can pay her back when we start to thrive again. She wants me to assure the lords and ladies of this, and then have them vote again. She doesn’t want people to follow her because they feel forced to.” Sansa and Arya were both staring at him now. “You’re wrong about her, Sansa. You’ve always been wrong about her. In every way. You endangered her, you endangered me, just to get what you want. I understand that you’re hurting. But you tried to hurt her with no consideration to how it might affect anyone else.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa said. “I didn’t want you hurt.”

“No? Did you even think about me? About how I would feel?”

“I was scared, Jon.”

“I told you if you ever tried to undermine her again, we’re finished. You not only tried to undermine her. You tried to destroy her. People will question this now. And someone may figure it out and murder her.”

“No one’s going to murder her,” Sansa said bitterly. “Everyone loves her.”

“Now. But she may make decisions that people don’t like. She wants to abolish forced marriages. How do you think the lords will take that? Any number of things she wants to do, could cause anger. We all stand here alive because of her, and she could be murdered because of you. And you swore to me. You swore you would never tell anyone.”

“I wanted to be free-“

“She wasn’t threatening your freedom,” he thundered, and Sansa’s face paled.

“I couldn’t trust her,” Sansa cried. “Every time I’ve trusted anyone outside our family, I got hurt. Badly. I don’t want to be ruled by anyone. But I trusted you.”

Jon sighed. “If you don’t trust her by now, you never will. But Sansa, I love her. She’s my family as much as you are. I can’t trust you if you are only out to harm her. Do you understand?” 

She nodded, her eyes full of tears again. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“I hope so,” he said. “But as it stands now, we’re finished.” He turned to leave, when Arya spoke. 

“What about me?” She asked.

He turned to her, his gaze softening. “What about you?”

“I know you must be angry at me. And I understand. I was wrong. I just didn’t want Sansa to die.”

“What are you talking about?”

“When I was in her room with her. I went there and told her I wouldn’t let her harm my sister.”

Jon felt a pain behind his eyes, a pressure. “What...what did she say?”

“She said to do what I must. She wasn’t going to back down because of death threats. She was thinking already of whether there was something like the Wall for women. But she didn’t tell me because she didn’t want me to think I could scare her into doing what I wanted her to. She’s fierce.”

Jon felt nausea overwhelm him. How terribly that could have gone. 

“Arya...” Jon’s voice simmered with anger, “you went into her room...and threatened her life...after all she’s done for-“

“I know. I apologized.”

“Apologized? Arya, you should never have threatened her at all! Why would you do that?”

“I didn’t want her to kill Sansa. But you’re right, I shouldn’t have threatened her. Jon, I don’t like the security in her room. There are too many ways to get in. I’m going to train with her so she’s better prepared for an attack. But she’s not well, and her room needs to be better protected.”

“You went in there to murder her,” Jon said, and the rage was building. “I doubt she’ll trust you with her security.”

“I went in there to convince her not to kill Sansa. And she’s the one who asked me to train with her. To make up for threatening her.”

“Arya,” he ran his hands through his hair, “it’s like I told Sansa. I love her. And-“

“I know,” Arya said quickly. “She’s your family. So I guess that makes her my family. I swear I’ll never hurt her. I’ll try to see her as family.”

Jon felt some of the rage fade, the tension ease from him, the knots in his stomach loosening. “You mean that?”

“Yes. I promise, I’ll never threaten her again. I didn’t want to hurt her anyway. I just didn’t want Sansa to die.”

Jon nodded. “Don’t do it again. Please. She does not deserve that. You know it.”

Arya stood up and walked to him, embracing him. “I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too,” he said. He hugged her tightly. He saw Sansa watching them. His heart twisted. Too many times in his childhood, he was left out of family embraces because of Lady Catelyn’s hatred for him.  
He couldn’t do that to Sansa. But he was still too angry to reach out his arm to invite her into the embrace. He pulled away from Arya gently, ruffling her hair and earning a playful punch in his arm.  
He nodded at Sansa, and left the room.

**********************************

Sansa’s mind was racing.  
Soon the decree would be made, and she would be Lady Sansa no more.  
Her own people were angry at her for her announcement, and worse, no one believed her. And over time, Sansa knew, they might piece it together. Figure it out. But Jon would refuse to take the throne.  
And then maybe someone would murder Daenerys, and Jon would never forgive her.  
The Northerners were still grumbling about Deepwood Motte as well, and she knew Jon wasn’t pleased that she’d given it away either, but was too consumed over his rage over what she’d done at the feast to address it.

She could not calm down. She should be grateful to Daenerys for offering to loan Jon the money to get them through winter. But she was angry. If Daenerys had offered that in the first place, this would not have happened.

All I wanted was to be free, she thought. Why could no one see that? 

She’d overheard Ser Brienne telling Podrick that she and Ser Jaime had planned to announce their betrothal at the feast. Ser Brienne had thought Sansa to be asleep. Sansa felt the dark, murky guilt swirl through her. She’d ruined the feast for Ser Brienne. 

She sat in her room, going through her things. She would have to choose one of the options offered to her for her sentence. They might let her serve it at Winterfell, but Jon had to guarantee she was truly serving it, and nobody was happy about it. They thought she should serve it at Kings Landing. 

She felt the heavy weight of shame now. Daenerys had somehow fooled everyone into believing she was benevolent, and now Sansa looked ungrateful and treacherous and worse, dishonorable. 

As she looked through her things, she saw a sheen of black cloth, and she lifted it, remembering. When Daenerys had rushed off on her dragons to save the armies, Sansa had embroidered her family’s dragon sigil in red thread onto the black sheath of shimmering cloth. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. They’d almost been friends. 

Sansa decided she must speak with Daenerys.  
Whether she wanted to or not, honor demanded it. She carried the small parcel with her, knowing she’d probably ruined the gift before she’d even given it. But she would give it.

She found her sitting outside at the garden table, looking over papers, frowning anxiously.  
Sansa approached her cautiously. 

“You didn’t execute me.”  
Daenerys started a little at her voice, and her eyes turned from anxious to cold as they settled on her. 

“No. Not this time.” She turned her gaze back to the papers in front of her.  
“The last time I was here I was a prisoner to Cersei and Joffrey. I was completely powerless.”  
“And now you’re the Lady of Winterfell and Joffrey and Cersei are dead.”  
“I won’t be the Lady of Winterfell much longer.”  
Daenerys shrugged. “That’s your own doing.”

Sansa sat down. “I came to thank you for not executing me. And...to apologize. I did exactly what you said I would.”  
“And yet I’ve done none of the things you said I would,” Daenerys said coolly.  
“I didn’t want the North to starve. I thought you were trying to force us into submission.”  
“I wasn’t.”  
“I know. Jon told me what you said. About loaning him the gold. They’re going to send a raven to Winterfell and then take another vote with the smallfolk. The Lords are going to vote fealty. You know that, I imagine.”  
“Yes.”  
“Its what Jon recommended. They’re still angry over my giving Deepwood Motte to Sandor Clegane,” Sansa added. “They wanted Jon to do something about it.”  
Daenerys raised her head then. “Can I ask you something? About that?”  
“If you’re going to ask about whether I gave it to him because of you giving Storms End to Gendry-“  
“I wasn’t going to,” Daenerys said, frowning. “I wondered why you chose Deepwood Motte to give him. You don’t have to answer if it’s painful. Or at all, really. I was just curious.”  
“Why would that be painful?”  
“Well...is the Dreadfort held by any garrisons right now?”  
“How would I know that?”  
“You could ask Bran.”  
“Why?”  
“Because...I could be wrong, but isn’t it yours?”  
“It’s not mine,” Sansa said, recoiling.

Daenerys nodded. “I see. I had thought it was. I was curious why you didn’t give him the Dreadfort instead of Deepwood Motte.”

Sansa frowned. “But why would I give it to him?”

“Well...it has extensive kennels and the Cleganes were kennelmasters. I thought it was yours, so who you choose to give it to, would be less likely to cause a dispute than Deepwood Motte. Unless it was being held. Deepwood Motte has a lot of land, rather than being a fortress, like the Dreadfort, so it could be divided up and you could reward more people with it.” She shrugged. “But I don’t know yet all about Westeros. And anyway, if it’s not yours then I can understand why you would not want to waste resources to seize it. Whose is it?”

“It’s...I suppose it is mine. Or it was, before I was stripped of land and titles.”

Daenerys sighed, and returned her attention to her papers. “I was also trying to find out if he planned on returning to Clegane’s Keep,” she went on, still looking down. “It seemed wasteful to leave the land untouched, but I couldn’t give it to anyone if he was going to take it back.”

“You’re the queen,” Sansa said. “You don’t have to answer to anyone.”

Daenerys looked up at her and laughed bitterly, her features suddenly tired. “That’s one way to look at it. Another way to look at it is, as queen I must answer to everyone.” She shrugged. “Anyway, this is something for Jaime Lannister to worry about now.”

“Jaime Lannister?”

“He’s Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. He’ll decide what’s to be done.”

Sansa studied her. “I can’t believe you made the man who killed your father Lord Paramount of the Westerlands.”

“My father was going to burn down the city. And it was a long time ago.”

“So there’s hope for me yet,” Sansa said, smiling bitterly.

“Indeed there is,” Daenerys said.

Sansa looked again at the little package she’d brought. She was hesitant now. When she’d approached Daenerys before, the little queen had seemed open to conversation, even friendship.  
Now she was as cold as the North. 

“I’m sorry for doing...what I did. I was afraid for my people. And I was afraid for myself. I thought you might try to force me into a marriage. Or take our land and give it to someone loyal to you. I thought you were trying to starve us into submission. I thought you just wanted to rule and didn’t care about the cost.” 

“I do want to rule. I think that’s well established,” Daenerys said. “But I do care about the cost. And I don’t want to force my rule on anyone.”

Sansa sighed. “It’s impossible for me to trust people.”

“I know,” Daenerys said, her voice still cold. “I had hoped that over time you would see that my intentions are not harmful. But I don’t have any duty to you, Lady Sansa. I’m tired of trying to prove myself to you. I’m not doing it anymore. I told Lord Tyrion that I’ve done everything in my power to show you that you don’t have to fear me. And I see now that was a mistake. If you do something like this again, you’d be wise to fear me. I’m at the end of my patience with you.”

Sansa felt her anger rise at that, but pushed it down. Daenerys was right. She’d done what she could to keep peace, and Sansa had smashed that. She would have to just be patient. That was really all she could do now. Watch and wait and hope. 

“Thank you again. For not executing me. For offering to loan Jon the gold. For not executing Arya.”

“Arya?”

“For threatening to murder you.”

Daenerys sighed. “She had the power to do it and didn’t. I can’t say that same for you.”

“I don’t have the power to murder you.”

“You had knowledge that could cause my murder, and you announced it at a feast. The danger is inevitable now.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa repeated.

Daenerys had returned her attention to her papers. Sansa gripped the parcel she held. She wanted to give it to her, to tell her that she’d regretted her coldness toward her, even then. But being at Kings Landing had torn her apart.

“If you could try to understand what being here has been like for me-“ Sansa started, and Daenerys cut her off.

“If I wasn’t trying to understand, you would be ashes right now,” she said, her voice like a sword, sharp unbending steel.

Sansa stood then. She could not keep apologizing. It meant nothing. Less than nothing. She could not and should not expect forgiveness. 

She would have to follow Daenerys’ example-or at least her example before this-and prove that she was sorry she’d endangered her.

“Good day, Your Grace.”

“Good day.”

Sansa started to walk away, then turned. She wanted to say something else, but could think of nothing. She sighed and began walking back to her room. She still held the parcel. She could not give it to her now. She’d ruined any chance at friendship. If she’d given it to her when she’d first arrived, if she’d told her of the toasts the Northerners had made to her health, if she’d tried to explain her fears, she knew now that Daenerys would have listened. Sansa knew she would have appreciated her gift, small though it was. Daenerys had been so grateful when Sansa had read to her. 

She sat on her bed and started to cry, angry at herself for crying over Daenerys and a lost friendship Sansa had not even known she’d wanted.

I don’t need her friendship, she told herself fiercely. I have my family. I don’t need her at all. But the tears kept coming until she drifted into sleep.

*********************************

Daenerys was tired again, and trying to ignore it, to ignore the pain that had reared it’s vicious head a few hours before, and had been sharpening its talons ever since on her soft insides.  
Today had been productive. Her morning council had gone smoothly, and no one had objected to her taking a rest afterward.  
She’d awakened feeling a little better, and had started reading letters. It concerned her that she’d heard nothing from Daario or the Bay of Dragons, and then today one letter had arrived, scratched out in haste if the messy writing was any indication, badly misspelled as if written by a child, or by one who’d only learned to read very recently.  
The letter had simply said, in crude Valyrian, “mother must help us.”  
She felt a chill. She had to find out what was happening. She’d been concerned for almost a fortnight, a strange cold feeling of dread creeping over her when she thought about Essos; but more and more the abhorrent edge of fear had pressed against her, and now, with the letter, it was like a premonition.  
Something is wrong. 

Sansa Stark had chosen that moment to come and apologize for her actions.  
So much good her apology would do, now that she’d already planted doubt as to the legitimacy of Dany’s reign. 

You could have talked to me, she’d thought, struggling to hold the reins on her fury.

But it was done now, and if her allies were to turn on her, there was little she could do to stop it. She had come to love many of them. If they turned on her, she would leave Westeros and never look back. She couldn’t and wouldn’t go through that heartbreak again.

She knew she should also be angry at Arya Stark. But she was well aware of what the she-wolf was capable of doing. If Arya had wanted Daenerys dead, surely she would be.  
Especially since she’d refused at first to promise Sansa’s safety. She knew it was a dangerous gamble, but she also knew that if she gave in to threats, she may as well surrender her crown and call for the death that waited for her, sinking its claws into her belly until she bled.

She had called a second council to tell her advisors about Qyburn’s writings. That she wasn’t sure if he could be believed, but that he’d said there might be some way to save her.  
Randyll Tarly had at first been opposed to her doing anything that might have even the smallest comfort for a man who had attempted to burn them all alive, but once she’d mentioned the possibility that Qyburn may have devised some way to save her, Tarly had immediately volunteered to go to Oldtown himself, and bring his sons along as well.  
Sam had fidgeted nervously, explaining his stealing of books, but Dany had given him a written pardon, and advised him that bringing the books back might alleviate some of their anger.  
Sam had proudly announced then that he’d copied the books and he would leave the copies for her library. 

She was deeply grateful to them.  
She could not help but wonder if he was right, if she should have executed Sansa.  
She knew that Jon was right: they needed a world of mercy. 

But she knew well, that too much mercy took the teeth out of her rule, and she needed the teeth, the claws and fire, to ensure her own safety.

And now she was tired. She wanted to go back to her bed. Every day, this battle. The battle against pain that oppressed her body, pain that was a malevolent tyrant, the agonizing insurrection of her will, a will that would fight and endure until endurance meant sitting, her mind blank from excruciating pain that overwhelmed, until she knew that she would not be productive.  
She would only sit in mute agony, her mind dulled by its onslaught.

She finally walked to her room, knowing if she waited much longer she would have to be carried. While she could still move independently, while she still possessed the alacrity to respond to questions that would inevitably be peppered through her walk. While she could still show a semblance of strength, she would go back to her room, where she would then curl into herself, and weep in enervating pain until sleep mercifully took her.

Tyrion caught up with her as she made her way to her chambers. 

“I wanted to thank you for sparing Lady Sansa’s life,” he said. “You were well within your rights to execute her. Everything you said last night was right. But you didn’t.”

“If she does something like this again, I will, so don’t thank me just yet.”  
“I’m thanking you for sparing her now,” he said. “Are you all right?”  
“Tired. But yes.” She flashed him a small smile. “I’m all right.”  
“You don’t look all right. You’re quite pale. Why don’t I get Maester Lomys?”  
“He’ll tell me to rest and that’s what I’m going to do.”  
“He could give you milk of the poppy,” Tyrion said.  
“If I start taking milk of the poppy whenever I’m in pain, it may not help much when the time comes that it’s much worse.”  
Tyrion sighed. “The Tarlys are leaving in the morning to go to Oldtown.”  
She nodded. “I don’t want to get my hopes up,” she said. “But I can’t help it.”  
“I must admit my own hopes have risen as well. I’ve become quite attached to you, Your Grace.”  
She smiled again, weakly, in gratitude and to spite the pain threatening to drop her to her knees. “Likewise, Lord Tyrion.”  
She finally made it to her chambers, and turned to him. “I must rest,” she told him, and he nodded. She could see sadness in his face, worry for her.  
“I hope you sleep well, Your Grace.”

Daenerys wasn’t sure how long she’d slept, when she awoke with a knot of fear in her stomach.  
She pushed herself up in bed. One lamp remained lit, and she glanced around the room.  
Someone is here, she thought, her heart freezing in her chest.

She glanced at her door and realized it had been barred; she could see a large, thick metal shape across its bulk. She saw a shadow moving toward her and leapt from her bed to the table where she’d lain Lady Forlorn, swinging it as the shadow approached; a guttural cry escaped the man as his intestines leaked to the floor, then another man came at her from behind, grabbing her arm and hurling her to the floor, her sword skittering across its polished wood.

She tried to crawl toward it, but the man kicked her stomach savagely, several times, and she thought she might sick up all she’d eaten from the intensity of the pain. 

He yanked her up by her hair, and she started to reach for his face, when two arms caught her elbows from behind, twisting them behind her back.

The man in front of her smiled, a greasy smile full of hate. “Valar morghulis, Muna Zaldrizoti,” he said, and gripped her throat.  
Daenerys curled her hand tightly around the balls of the man holding her arms, squeezing until he let go of her arms, cursing.  
A dirty trick, Ser Jorah had told her. But if it’s your life in danger, do what you must.  
As soon as her arms were free, she plunged he fingers into the eyes of the man in front of her, crushing and pulling them out of their sockets.  
As he swung blindly at her, screaming, she hit him with all her strength, aiming for the bridge of his nose and hoping she hit the correct spot.  
The man fell, and Dany was grabbed from behind, turning her sharply, a fist connecting with her face, such force behind it that she was dazed for a moment, swaying. The man threw her to the floor and gripped her throat, digging his fingers into her flesh, his legs pinning her arms.  
She struggled desperately, and she could dimly hear the crashing at her door. Her guards trying to get in.  
Hurry, she thought, please...blackness was edging her vision, her head was pounding, she could hear her heart in her ears.  
A flash of silver seemed to glimmer at the man’s throat, and then blood.  
Blood poured from his opened throat, his gurgling mouth, and he collapsed on her.  
Behind him, she could see Arya Stark, wiping his blood off her dagger and pulling him off Dany and bending down beside her, helping her sit up.  
“Are you all right?”  
Dany was coughing, but she managed to nod.  
Her door caved in then, sending splinters of wood in every direction.  
Her guards rushed into her room and started to grab at Arya.  
“No,” Dany choked. “Not her. She saved my life.”  
She felt waves of dizziness sweeping through her mind, and as Ser Jorah landed at her side, she leaned against him. He lifted her onto her bed.  
“Maester Lomys is coming,” he assured her.  
She was wondering if she could die from pain. The assassin who had kicked her, had seemed to know just where it hurt.  
“I might just take him up on that offer of milk of the poppy,” she said, smiling faintly.  
Someone was lighting the lamps, people were crowding into the room, and she hoped Maester Lomys would hurry.  
“This is because of Sansa Stark,” someone in the hallway was saying, and she could hear other voices rise in assent.  
“It wasn’t,” Dany whispered to Ser Jorah, who leaned closer to hear her. “They spoke Valyrian.”  
Maester Lomys entered the room after what felt like hours. He offered her the milk of the poppy and she took it eagerly.  
She would figure out everything else tomorrow. No doubt she’d wake up in pain. But for now all she wanted was sleep, and she drifted gratefully into soft darkness.


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your comments and kudos are gold to me, thank you so much! :-)  
This chapter is fallout from the assassination attempt, and Dany starts getting ready for yet another war.  
I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter Twenty Eight

Sam was anxious, Jon could feel it coming off him in waves.  
“The last time I was at the Citadel, I stole books, and snuck out in the night with Gilly and little Sam. The last time I was at Horn Hill, I stole my father’s sword...and snuck out in the night with Gilly and little Sam....”

Jon sat with Sam and Lord Tyrion in the quiet of his chambers, drinking ale and thinking. Tyrion had opted for wine instead.

“He’s certainly treated me differently since the battle at Winterfell,” Sam went on, his voice cautiously optimistic. “But a long trip with my father and brother, will surely remind them both of all my failings.”

“You said he complimented you on killing that white Walker,” Jon offered.

“Yes, but...my father admires strength. He always has. A long trip to Oldtown might...not be good. We never got on very well, and...his being proud of something I’ve done...it’s been such a thrill. I’m going to ruin it, I just know it.”

“It seems no matter how they berate us, we all want our fathers to be proud of us,” Tyrion said, raising his wine glass, and Sam sighed. 

Jon was quiet now, and Sam looked at him guiltily. “I’m sorry, Jon. Here I am afraid my father will lose this new respect he’s been showing me, and you’ve had your entire world turned inside out over your parentage. Are you All right?”

“Aye, I’m all right. Would be better if Sansa hadn’t...” he broke off, finding that he was still too angry to talk about it.

“I can only imagine,” Sam murmured in consolation.

Down the hall, outside his room, Jon heard shouting, the rushing of footsteps, and he frowned. “What’s going on?”   
“Secure the castle,” someone was calling.  
Sam and Lord Tyrion looked mystified, and Jon felt a knot forming in his stomach. “Something’s wrong,” he said, standing and walking out of his chambers.

As soon as he stepped into the hallway, he was forced to stand against the wall, as Unsullied soldiers were hurrying past.   
He could only hear snatches of their conversation, most of which was in Valyrian, and he glanced at Lord Tyrion. He was listening attentively, then suddenly paled.

“What is it?” Jon demanded.   
“There’s been an assassination attempt on Daenerys,” Lord Tyrion said grimly.  
Jon turned abruptly and ran alongside the solders, rushing to Dany’s chambers. He was consumed by rage and sheer terror, running blindly, weaving through the soldiers until he reached her room.   
People were standing about, talking all at once, but Jon ignored them, cutting through the crowd to where Dany lay on her bed.  
“Dany,” he whispered, his hands cupping her face.  
“Please, let her sleep, Your Grace,” urged Maester Lomys. “I’ve given her milk of the poppy.”  
“Is she all right?” Jon asked.  
“I believe so,” Maester Lomys said, “we’ll know more in the morning.”

Jon shuddered, looking into her face. It was paler even than usual, and a dark bruise had formed on her cheekbone. Her throat was covered in bruises as well, and Jon was furious. 

“Where are the cowards who did this?” He growled, turning to the others in the room.  
“Dead,” Ser Jorah said, and Jon could see his own anger and fear reflected on the knight’s face.   
“Your sister killed them,” Lord Tarly added, and Jon realized Arya was standing in the room as well.   
“Arya...” Jon murmured.  
“I only killed the last one,” Arya explained. “The queen had killed the other two before I got here.”

Jon saw a brief smile pass over Tarly’s face before he resumed scowling. He then turned his attention back to Ser Jorah and the Unsullied, hissing at them in a manner that made Jon suspect that he wanted to be yelling, and only Maester Lomys’ request for quiet prevented it.  
“I’m sure everyone feels badly enough without you-“ Lord Tyrion began.

“You do not feel badly enough,” Lord Tarly thundered at him, and Maester Lomys immediately protested.

“If we are going to have this council here, I must insist on quiet. She’s in pain, we have to let her sleep,” the Maester pleaded.

“Even if you did feel badly enough, whatever that means, what good is that to her?” Lady Olenna demanded, her voice low but venomous. “If the assassins had been successful, all your bad feelings wouldn’t bring her back.”

“You are her Hand,” Tarly was fairly snarling at Tyrion. “You know this Keep better than anyone here. I find it hard to believe you didn’t know there were secret entrances to the queen’s chambers. If Arya Stark hadn’t been wandering through the passageways-“

“I wasn’t wandering,” Arya said. “I was specifically trying to block off the passages that led to her room to prevent something like this.”

“That is a good reflection on you, My Lady, but a terrible reflection on the queen’s Hand.” He turned his rage back to Tyrion. “You, who knew well this could happen, should have had her guards at every entrance. I’m here berating them, but they don’t know the Keep as you do.”

“Why don’t you all continue this in the morning,” Maester Lomys said. “The queen needs rest, and she’s not going to get it with you all in here arguing.”

“I’m staying here,” Jon said.  
“As am I,” Tarly added.  
“That’s fine. The rest of you-“  
“I’m not leaving,” Ser Jorah jumped in.   
“I will stay,” Grey Worm said.   
“I’ll leave in a few minutes,” Missandei said. “I just want to sit with her.”

The Maester sighed. “All right, but please try to keep it down. I don’t think she needs all of you here, but if you must stay, do not keep her awake.” 

Lady Olenna approached Dany, brushing her hair back from her face tenderly, and left the room, and Lord Willas looked at Dany with an anguished expression, then followed his grandmother. 

The Unsullied soldiers lifted the three dead men and carried them from the room. Arya kissed Jon’s cheek, and left the room as well.

Missandei sat on the bed with her, watching Dany’s face, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She kept to her word, leaning down and kissing Dany’s cheek, then murmuring something to Grey Worm and leaving the chambers.

When the room emptied, Randyll Tarly sat at the other side of the bed, while Grey Worm and Ser Jorah stood by the open bit of wall where the assassins had come in.

Jon was stroking Dany’s hair, still enraged that someone had come into her room to murder her. He wondered which of the men she’d killed. How frightened she must have been, yet how fierce she was. He was certain he’d never loved anyone or anything as he loved her.

He reached for her hand, and found it to be covered in gore. He poured water from a pitcher into a bowl, and began to wash her hands tenderly. He dried them, kissing her knuckles and then her forehead. He went back to stroking her hair, watching as the bruise on her face, and those on her throat darkened.

Lord Tarly got up and picked up her sword off the floor, wiping and sheathing it, then sitting back down. Tarly was watching him now, Jon realized, and he glanced at him.

“Did you want to say something, My Lord?” Jon asked.  
“I’m wondering how long you’re going to keep wasting time, since you asked.”  
“Wasting time?”

“My son Dickon is of marriageable age. But of course we can’t hope to compete with Lord Willas Tyrell. With the fall of the Lannisters, the Tyrells are the wealthiest family in the Seven Kingdoms, and there can be no doubt he’s taken with her. He’s not the warrior my son is, but I daresay neither of them is the warrior that our queen is. But Lord Willas is smart and amiable. Very well respected. There’s always Prince Quentyn Martell, but he is only a prince, with none of the beauty of the rest of his family, and he certainly does not possess the wealth of the Tyrells. For a queen who has won her throne, surely a prince holds little fascination. Not nearly so much as a Lord with the wealth to save a continent floundering in post war famine and poverty.”

Jon felt a cold, sick emptiness forming in his stomach. “You’re trying to have her marry,” he said hoarsely.

“She’s made her feelings on forced marriage abundantly clear. But of course we want our queen happy, and it would bring a certain peace of mind, were she to marry and produce an heir.” Jon shivered. “Now again, her happiness is of paramount importance. And perhaps you both think the people around you are blind. We aren’t. We all see how you look at each other. And what lord or prince could compete with a king? A marriage that would unite the realm. And you are quite the warrior. I saw you on her dragon, and I saw you on the field. I see why everyone talks of you now. Of course, it would be a different thing if the two of you were not fond of each other, but a fool could see that’s not the case. So I ask...how long do you plan on wasting time?”

Jon stared at him. “It’s not that simple,” he muttered.

“It certainly is that simple. You’re quite obviously attached to each other. A marriage would put a stop to all the ceaseless whining about Northern independence. If it’s fear of losing the support of the Tyrells, I can assure you that will never happen.”

“It’s not...that’s not the problem.”  
“Well, what is the problem?”  
Jon sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.

“You Northerners have got to be the biggest fools in all Seven Kingdoms,” Tarly said. “One day she’ll become tired of waiting for you and she’ll marry Lord Willas. And when you’re watching him cloak her, and you’re crying into your cup, I hope you remember this conversation.”

Jon shuddered. “Thank you for the counsel, My Lord.”

They fell into silence and Jon pondered his words.  
He imagined what Lord Tarly would say if he were to tell him the truth.

I asked her to marry me and she said no, because in another life I murdered her and now she can’t trust me.

He almost laughed. He almost cried.   
And now all he could see in his head was her marrying Lord Willas.   
Thinking about Dany marrying another man made him feel as if his guts were being pulled from his body and tied in knots. And yet still it was better than the idea of her dying. 

“You’re leaving for Oldtown tomorrow,” Jon said.  
“Yes. We’re bringing gold, and the books Samwell took. If Qyburn’s writings have any credible way to save her, we have to have them.”  
“What will you do if they won’t give them to you?”  
“They will.”  
“Do you have a plan if they refuse?”  
“I’ll tell them they’re needed to save the queen.”  
“And if they still refuse?”  
“I’ll have those writings by whatever means necessary,” he said grimly.  
Jon nodded. He was close to offering to join them, but he couldn’t bear the thought of Dany dying in his absence. He needed to stay near her, so that if something happened he might convince Kinvara to take his life in trade for hers.

Around dawn, Arya came in with a few more guards. Jon did not want to leave, but Arya reminded him of his own rotations when Dany had been at Winterfell. 

“None of you can help her if you’re half asleep,” she pointed out. 

Jon, Lord Tarly, Ser Jorah and Grey Worm reluctantly left Dany’s room, and Tarly was saying he would leave for Oldtown in the afternoon rather than morning. He wanted to make sure something was being done about the secret entrances in Dany’s chambers. 

Jon saw Lord Willas Tyrell in the hallway. 

“How is she?” He asked.

“She’s sleeping, but alive,” Jon assured him.

“I won’t wake her. I just want to see her,” Lord Willas assured him.

Jon nodded, and walked on. He was certainly not going to be rude to the man. But now he couldn’t think of him without a searing, clawing jealousy. 

********************************

Tyrion sat in the council chambers, listening as Lord Tarly and Lady Olenna unleashed a storm over his head and the heads of Daenerys’s guards. 

He could see that Ser Jorah was already devastated over his allowing Daenerys to be attacked. It was hard to read any emotion from the Unsullied, but this only concerned Tyrion more. He remembered too well that Blue Mouse had almost fallen on his own sword when he’d accidentally hit Daenerys with a spear. 

“This is not their fault,” Tyrion said in a rare moment when neither of them were raging. “This is my fault. It’s like you said last night, I knew about the passageways, I just didn’t think-“

“Rest assured, Lord Tyrion, we are well aware that this is your fault, much more so than theirs,” Lady Olenna said. “They were standing outside her door, they had no idea they should be guarding the passageways. They didn’t even know about the passageways. You did.”

“And I am truly sorry,” Tyrion said. 

He was. He felt sick whenever he thought about what could have happened. He hadn’t expected anyone to attack her, but he should have prepared for it.

Jon had come in as well, and was sitting at the council table, staring at his hands. Nobody was blaming him, of course, but he looked as if he felt guilty just the same. Sam Tarly sat with him as if in support.

The rest of Daenerys’ small council was starting to enter the chambers, and were discussing more effective safety measures.   
Yara Greyjoy was suggesting that Daenerys should not be alone at all, ever.

Good luck with that, Tyrion thought. One thing he’d learned about Daenerys, was that she would do what she wanted, regardless of her advisors’ counsel.

To Tyrion’s surprise, Meera Reed entered with Bran Stark. 

“I need to speak to Daenerys,” he said.

“Queen Daenerys,” Lord Tarly corrected. “She’s not here. She was attacked last night.”

“She’ll be here,” Bran said. 

Sansa Stark entered the room then, followed by Ser Brienne and Podrick. 

“I’m so sorry,” Sansa said. Her eyes were wide. “I just heard. Is she all right?”

Tyrion couldn’t tell if it was genuine fear for Daenerys, a flawless mummers’ act, or if she was just terrified of being forever branded as the person who had caused the death of their beloved queen, but her face was pale, and she was shaking.

“She’s alive,” Lady Yara said, her voice like ice.

“Is it because of me? It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

“It’s not because of you,” Bran said. “Not this time.”

Daenerys entered the room, with Arya Stark and Missandei. Immediately the others in the room stood, except Bran, who nodded in greeting.

Tyrion tried not to gape at her. She was beautiful as always, but her face and throat were darkly bruised, and it was painful to see. Tyrion wished he were able to fight, to defend her, to avenge her.

She stood with her chin raised, and the bruises should have made her seem more fragile. But they made her seem invincible. As if she would keep standing, keep rising, against whatever was thrown at her.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but you should be resting,” Lord Tarly said, in his voice a tone of gentleness Tyrion had not suspected he had in him. 

“Indeed, my dear, you must return to bed immediately,” Lady Olenna added.

Daenerys looked at them gratefully. “I appreciate it, but I can’t. I must find a way to get information about what’s happening in Essos. My attackers spoke Valyrian last night. I’m quite certain they were sent by someone there.”

She sat down, and her council followed suit.

“I remember you once told me that it wouldn’t serve me and my men to underestimate what you could do to defend yourself,” Lord Tarly said. “I saw the two men you killed. One with his guts hanging from his body, the other with his eyes gouged out and the bones of his nose lodged into his brain. I’m quite glad we kept our word to you, Your Grace.” She smiled faintly, and Lord Tarly turned to Arya. “And to you, My Lady, we owe a great debt. Her Grace told us you saved her life from the third assassin. If I can ever be of service to you, don’t hesitate to let me know.”

Arya nodded at him. “Thank you, My Lord. You can begin my calling me by my name. I’m not a lady.”

“I thought everyone loved you in Essos,” Sansa said to Daenerys.

Daenerys looked at her, surprised she was even there. “Sadly, not everyone,” she said.

“Not the slavers,” Bran added. “They’ve taken back Astapor.”

A gasp sounded in Daenerys’ throat. “I must go immediately,” she said, starting to stand. 

Several voices objected, but Bran’s voice cut through them. “You may as well wait for Daario Naharis,” he said.

Daenerys stopped, staring at him. “Wait for him?”

“Who is Daario Naharis?” Lady Olenna asked.

“He’s the Captain of the Second Sons. I left him to oversee the safety of the people in Meereen and the Bay of Dragons,” Daenerys explained. She turned back to Bran. “What do you mean ‘wait for him’?”

“He’s on his way here. He’s been sending messages. They’ve been intercepted.”

“They sent gifts! Essos sent me-“

“That was before. The slavers were planning to take back the cities, and had not begun their attack. But you suggested to Tycho Nestoris that the Iron Bank should call back loans from anyone who built a fortune in slavery. Directly or indirectly.”

“I did.”

“Braavos, as you know, will support this. The Iron Bank should not have been investing in the slave trade anyway. The slavers decided to take back their cities to show their power. If they win, the Iron Bank will go back to what they were doing.”

“And if I win?”

“If you win, the Iron Bank will begin collecting the debts and refuse any new loans to anyone who who makes their coin in the slave trade, in any manner, all over.” The room had gone utterly silent now. “As a result of this, the masters want you dead, much more than before. Even Volantene nobles. But the Volantene people are with you. The Red Temple has been spreading word that you will come free them. The Tiger Cloaks will switch to your side.”

“Thank you, Bran.” She sighed. “I must go to Essos,” she told her council. “I cannot allow the slavers to destroy the new lives the people are trying to build. How far is Captain Naharis from here?” Daenerys asked Bran. 

“About two days away. That will give me time to tell you what you need to know,” Bran said.

“Your Grace, I must object to you going to war in your condition,” Lady Yara said.

“I agree,” Lady Olenna added. “You should not even be out of bed, let alone going into another war.”

“If I don’t go, and the cities fall back into the hands of the masters, innocent people will die or be returned to chains.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Willas entreated, “you could send help. If you left this Captain Naharis in charge of their well being, you must trust him. And it sounds as if he’s done as you’ve asked. Surely you could allow him to take an army with him, rather than risk your own life when you’re already not well.”

Daenerys sighed again. “It’s true. I’m not well. But I may not ever be well. I cannot allow my people to slide back into chains. If it’s as Bran says, and I’ve found that it always is, this could be a definitive war. If the Iron Bank imposes these penalties, it will crush the slave trade. I can’t let an opportunity like that slip out of our hands. If I’m to die, and please believe me when I tell you, that’s not what I want, I could at least die with a measure of peace that my life’s work has not been destroyed.”

Tyrion was watching her with a sadness that threatened to engulf him. She would go to Essos. There would be no stopping her. Already she was waking up drenched in blood. She would die if she did this, and there was not a thing in the world they could say or do to make her stay. His mind was racing over enticements to convince her not to go.

“Your Grace, you know you can only bring one dragon with you,” Tyrion finally said. “Viserion won’t leave, and Rhaegal will stay to bring her food.”

“I only need one dragon with me to do what I need to do.”

“And what of the throne? You’ve wanted it for so long, and now you have it. You’re the queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Six Kingdoms,” she corrected. “And I realize that it’s a risk. But I have to take that risk. My people here are safe. My people in Essos aren’t. Jon Snow is my heir. He can take the throne while I-“

“I’m coming with you,” Jon said.

Daenerys turned to him sharply. “You’re...why?”

“If something happens to you...I can’t just find this out in a message. I need to be there. I need to know I did everything in my power to protect you.”

“You’re the King in the North,” Sansa reminded him. “And as her heir, you’d be the King of all Seven Kingdoms. Your duty is here.”

“My duty is with Queen Daenerys,” Jon said. He turned back to Daenerys. “If you’re going, I’m going.”

“And then who will rule while you’re both gone?” Sansa demanded.

Daenerys was still staring at Jon, but she turned back to the council at Sansa’s question.

“If His Grace insists on joining me, he will have to make arrangements for the North. As for the throne,” she said, turning to Lord Willas, “if you’re willing, it’s yours in my absence, and also if...if I don’t return.”

Lord Willas’ face was etched in shock. “Me? Your Grace, I can’t-“

“You can. If you’re unwilling, that’s a different matter. But you’ve shown every possible trait that would make for a good ruler. If I’m to die, I would know the realm is in good hands.”

Lord Willas looked overwhelmed, and for a moment Tyrion thought the man might weep. 

“If this is your desire and command, Your Grace, I will do as you say,” he finally said. “But...please, please do all you can to return to us.”

“I will. Rest assured, I want to live.”

“Do you?” Lady Olenna demanded. “Because it seems to me that you jump headlong into any opportunity you see, to risk yourself. And I understand, you want to help people. But you can’t help anyone if you’re dead”. 

“That’s exactly right, Lady Olenna. I can’t help anyone if I’m dead. And dead I may be before long, so I cannot miss this chance to take down the masters.” 

Tyrion could see that Lady Olenna, like himself, was trying to conjure reasons she must stay.

“What of your dragons?” Sansa asked her. “What will become of them if you die?”

That at least seemed to reach Daenerys, and her full lips seemed to tremble for a moment before she regained control. 

“I have been working on a plan for that. My dying has been a possibility for some time now.” She stood, and the council stood with her. “I thank you all for your counsel and...truly, for everything. Your loyalty and assistance has been worth more to me than I can express. I hope fervently to return to you.”

She turned then and left the room, followed by Ser Jorah, Missandei and Grey Worm.

Tyrion glanced at the faces around him. “I’m going to follow her. I don’t think I’ll have much success, but I cannot forgive myself if I don’t make every effort to stop her.”

He hurried down the hall after her.

“Your Grace,” he began, trying to keep step with her long strides.

“Lord Tyrion,” she responded.

“I wish you would reconsider. You could send an army-“

“I appreciate your being concerned for me,” she said, and her voice was soft, almost tender. “But I must do this.”

“Of course I’m concerned,” he said. “You have become one of my dearest friends. Maybe my dearest friend. You wanted to break the wheel. You wanted to build a better world. You said we would leave the world better than we found it. I don’t want you to abandon that.”

“Abandon it? Lord Tyrion, if we win this war on the slavers, and the Iron Bank intercedes, it will crush the slave trade. I suppose there will always be evil men who seek to enslave others. But we can end the trade as it exists today. And then if Jon won’t take the throne, Lord Willas will be the king. They are both good men and will be good rulers. I would have loved to live a long life, Lord Tyrion, but I fear that hope ended the day I drank poison. I can still leave the world better than I found it.”

“But you won’t live to see it,” Tyrion said, his voice hoarse now over the thickness in his throat.

She winced. “I might not live to see it anyway. But so long as I do live, I will fight for that better world as well as I am able.”

Tyrion nodded. He felt desperately afraid that once she left Kings Landing, he would never see her again. 

“You’re the best person I’ve ever known,” he finally said.

She glanced at him and smiled. “Flatterer,” she accused playfully. “I’m going to take a rest, I’ll be up a little later. Thank you for all you’ve done, Lord Tyrion. You are one of my dearest friends as well.” 

She leaned down and kissed his cheek, then went into her chambers. Ser Jorah followed her to guard the passageways, and Grey Worm stood at the door. Missandei stood beside him, and Tyrion could see they wanted to be alone so they could talk. 

He turned to walk back to his own chambers, to pour himself some wine and dull the ache that had settled in his chest. 

***********************************

Daenerys woke up in agony, as she’d expected. She sat up in bed, and Ser Jorah moved toward her as if to assist, but she shook her head, smiling at him gratefully.   
“I’m all right,” she assured him.  
“I’m so sorry I let this happen,” he said. “I failed you.”  
“You didn’t know about the secret entrances.”  
“I should have known.”  
“This wasn’t your fault,” she said firmly. 

She was glad she’d decided to take Bran’s advice to wait for Daario. She had much to do. She needed to have Jon spend more time with her children. If she did not return from Essos alive, he might be able to use his bond with Rhaegal to protect all of them. She had to hope. He would likely return to his beloved North, and her children did not like the North. Daenerys was angry at Cersei, though the wretched woman was dead. Cersei had murdered her. Dany wanted to live. Especially now, with all her plans.

Tyrion had pointed out that she wouldn’t live to see her plans take root and grow to fruition, and all the trees she’d planted in the world would bloom without her. She had fought the urge to weep then, to simply break down into tears. She wasn’t even alone now, to collapse into sobs, to throw things in rage. To grieve. And no doubt she felt grief, grief for herself and for the life she would not get to live.   
But if she refused to go to Essos, she would likely die anyway, and all those people would suffer. 

She was frustrated that Jon had insisted on going with her. If he died fighting her war, who would care for her dragons?

The thought of him dying made her chest constrict painfully. She couldn’t stand the idea. Even aside from her fears for her children, even aside from his being the last hope of continuing their family line, even aside from his inherent goodness that she believed would help to build the world she desperately wanted. 

She wanted him to live, in the deepest part of her. She loved him beyond all reason, even knowing he could not love her with the same intensity. 

A knock sounded at the door.  
“Come in,” she called, and Lady Olenna stepped inside, holding a box.   
“I’ve brought you some sweets,” she said, tapping the box.  
Dany sat down at her table, and Lady Olenna sat across from her.  
“Thank you for this,” Dany said, opening the box and taking out one of the pretty confections, which she proceeded to devour. 

“As you’ve probably figured, I wanted to see if there was any possible argument I could make, to convince you not to go to Essos,” Lady Olenna said.

“I’m sorry, Lady Olenna, I truly am. But I must go. If I send an army, and then the slavers buy another army, then I send more men...it will just go on and on. This has to be definitive. I’ve been at this for years with them. I need to just end it.”

“Which means, you must go with your dragon and burn them all.”

Daenerys lifted her chin. “Yes,” she said. Her stomach knotted as she waited for the chagrin, the censure, the inevitable mention of her father and his terrible methods. She steeled herself for it, ready to explain; but it didn’t come. 

Lady Olenna nodded and took one of the sweets herself. “Good,” she said. “You coddle your servants, don’t you? Mine would have known to bring wine already.”

“You’re not going to tell me that it’s cruel to burn the slavers?”

“My dear, it seems to me that you’ve attempted already to find some other way to deal with them. Frankly I was surprised by the gentle means you’ve employed here, and I’ve been quite eager to see you be the dragon you were born to be. Shame I won’t get to see it, being all the way here. But I’m sure the stories will come around to us. Regardless, if Jon Snow rode one of your dragons, couldn’t he just go and do the burning for you? And you could stay here and wait for Tarly to bring that madman’s writings back from the Citadel.”

Dany sighed. “Jon is not going to approve of what I intend to do. He won’t do it himself. And even if he would, Drogon is larger, he’s better at dodging spears and arrows. He’s the strongest.”

“And no enticement will keep you here?”

“I have to do this. And I may survive. I’ll be trying to survive. But if I don’t, at least my work will live on. And you would then be the grandmother of the king.”

“Oh, yes, child. The implications have not escaped me. If it were anyone else to put us in this position, I would be helping them pack their things and not particularly eager for them to return. It’s certainly an opportunity for my family. I don’t quite know how this attachment to you managed to slip past all those machinations, but it has, and here we are. We don’t want to lose you.”

Daenerys felt a lump forming in her throat and tears sprang into her eyes before she could stop them. “I...thank you, Lady Olenna. For...giving me something I’ve never really had. I never knew my mother. My family. You’ve treated me like family, made me feel less alone.”

“My dear, we love you,” Lady Olenna said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand. At that, the last thread of her control snapped, and Dany felt herself starting to cry. She tried to stop, but Lady Olenna moved closer to her, wrapping her arms around her, and Dany fell into her embrace, hugging her tightly. 

“I love you too,” she said, her face buried in Lady Olenna’s shoulder. And now she was weeping, crying like a child. The fear and pain and exhaustion and grief, suddenly consumed her. Lady Olenna was stroking her hair, holding her as she trembled with sobs she’d held back for too long.

“So young,” Lady Olenna was saying. “And the weight of the world on your shoulders. It seems everyone comes to you with their insurmountable woes, and you put yourself between the world and its disasters.”

“I must,” Dany said softly.

“I know you think you must. I know there’s no convincing you otherwise. But if you die, it will be devastating for us. You know that, don’t you?”

Dany nodded, her tears finally subsiding. She sat back in her chair, feeling spent but somehow cleansed. “I thank you for that. It’s a comfort to know I’ll be remembered fondly. And it’s not my intention to die. I’ll be on Drogon. I’ll have armor. I will be doing all in my power to live and return to all of you. To my children. I want to live. I want to see my children’s children.”

Lady Olenna nodded, and sighed deeply. “And I hope you do,” she said.

After Lady Olenna had left her room, Daenerys went to Jon’s chambers, knocking on the door.   
“Come in,” his voice called and she entered the room. 

“Jon, why are you coming to Essos?” She asked. “You said you were tired of fighting. This is not your war.”

Jon was sitting at a table, drinking ale, and he motioned for her to sit. 

“If it’s your war, it’s my war,” he said, his dark eyes watching her as she took a seat.

She sighed. “You’re the King in the North. What will happen to your people?”

“Bran can hold the Northern crown in my absence.”

“Jon...you aren’t going to like what I intend to do there.”

“It’s a war. I wasn’t expecting to like it.”

She sighed. “Here in Westeros, you have your methods. I’ve tried to learn more about those methods, and to make war the way I’ve been advised to. Sieges and mercy and politics. And that’s...it’s good. I understand. I kept that in mind, your asking me to forgive, in that other life. You said the world we need is a world of mercy.”

Jon winced. “And I showed you none.”

“You had your reasons. Your family comes first. Your duty. I was not on the list of things that were most important to you.” He opened his mouth to respond, and she held up a hand. “Jon, let me finish. In Essos, I’m not fighting lords and ladies, for the right to rule free people. I’m fighting nobles who have built their fortune and power through the ownership and oppression of other people. They kidnap and enslave people from other lands. Children. They mutilate them. They torture them. They have them kill babes in front of their mothers then give a coin to their owners. This is a different kind of enemy than what we have in Westeros.”

“You think my tender feelings can’t handle the evil of Essosi slavers?” Jon’s voice was bitter. 

“I think your specific moral code can’t handle what I intend to do to them. When I was there, they crucified children. When I responded by crucifying nobles, they acted as if I were the one to commit an atrocity. As if somehow the lives of those nobles were worth more than the lives of the children. They were angry that I didn’t give them a trial. But they gave no trial to those children. They claimed that some of the nobles I’d killed had spoken out against the killing of the children. I let it bother me at the time. But they were nobles. They had power, they had gold, they could have left; and whatever words they spoke to attempt to protect those children, they still chose to stand at the side of those who had murdered them.” 

“You think I’ll defend them?”

“I don’t know. I respect your desire for mercy. I truly do. When we were there, Lord Tyrion made a pact with the slavers while he was trying to rule in my stead. I was missing. He told them they could keep people as slaves for seven years. The slavers violated the pact and attacked Meereen. He, much like you, spoke of mercy and caution and trying to see their side. If you intend to come with me, there’s something you must understand.”

“All right,” he said, looking at her attentively.

“There’s no such thing as an innocent slaver. Their children perhaps, but I’m not speaking of them. As far as I can see, slavers don’t have a side. I’m not going there to make peace. I’m not going there to negotiate. I have no intention of showing any mercy whatsoever. I’m going there with Fire and Blood. I’m going to rip them out root and stem. You remember how I said that about Cersei in that other life. I saw your face. Tyrion’s face. Your sisters. I know that you all thought what a terrible monster I must be. Poor Cersei.”

“That wasn’t what-“

“Let me finish. I’m going to destroy them. I don’t want my actions to weigh on your conscience. It’s best you stay here with your ideas of mercy and forbearance, for I will show none.”

Jon studied her. “You’re finished?”

“Yes.”

“They sent assassins to murder you. I have no intention of showing them mercy or asking you to do so.”

“You say that now, sitting here with your ale and reflecting on battles past. You find greater honor in your spears and swords. You think plunging a sword into a man’s guts and letting him bleed out is cleaner than burning them alive. You think I’m going there to bring battle.”

“Aren’t you?”

“No, Jon. I’ve battled them before. I’m too sick now, and quite honestly, they’ve given me no indication that beating them in battle will make a bit of difference in what they do. I’ve beaten them before, and yet they keep trying to enslave people again. They will no doubt have trained more Unsullied. My armies may battle them. They’ve been abused such that they have had their own wills broken. Obedience is all they know. They are among the people who will be free when I win. But I’m not going to battle with the masters. I’m going to massacre them. Any sellsword armies they’ve purchased, knew very well they were fighting to defend slavers. I’m going to massacre them, too.”

Jon leaned back in his chair, studying her. “That’s why you don’t want me to come with you?”

“I don’t want you to come with me because I don’t want you to die in my war. But I know you don’t like the side of me that’s going to come out in this. I know that if you stand with me, you feel some responsibility for my actions. I understand. It’s exactly why I can’t feel sorry for killing those who stood with the men who crucified children.”

“Dany, I stand with you. You think I would take the side of slavers over you?”

“You might. Not overall, but in this. I wanted to make my intentions known to you before you do this.”

Jon stood, and walked toward her, kneeling so that his face was level with hers. 

“They sent assassins. To murder you,” he repeated. He placed his hands on either side of her face, cupping it tenderly. “If you hadn’t been so fierce, if Arya hadn’t been in the passageway to your room...” he shuddered. “You would be gone from us. We would be mourning you. Lighting the pyre and...” his voice had grown deeper as he spoke, heavy with dread. His eyes traveled to her throat, to the bruises there. “Dany, if you had died, I would have done whatever I could to have Rhaegal let me ride him. I’d have gone there and burned them myself. Every last one of them. I wish you would let me do it, so you could stay here and wait for the Tarlys to bring back those writings.”

“I can’t,” she said. “Only one dragon can go, the other has to stay here with Viserion. And Drogon-“

“Then I’ll go with you and fight on the ground as I always have.”

“Jon, if you die-“

“I’d rather die fighting for you than stay here and get a message that you died and I wasn’t there doing everything in my power to save you.”

Dany shuddered. “I could die anyway.”

“Dany, if you die, I need to be there with you. I need to do whatever I can to stop it. In that other life, you-“

“I know what happened in that other life,” she said. 

“It will not happen again. You will not die alone and betrayed. I swear it, Dany. I would rather die with you than live without you. And if I can’t save you, I’ll be by your side. I have to do that much. I know after all that happened...after all I did, and all I didn’t do, in that life, it’s impossible for you to believe me. But I love you. I will never, ever put anyone or anything above you again. I swear it.”

Dany brought her own hands to his, holding them, their callused, rough flesh against hers, thrilling her as they always had.

“I love you,” Dany murmured. “I can’t stand it if you die fighting my war.”

“Dany, it’s like I said. If it’s your war, it’s my war.”

He wrapped his arms around her, and she held him as well, her head resting on his shoulder. 

********************************

Sam had packed the last of this things and could hesitate no longer. His father and brother were loading their cart and horses for their trip.  
Sam had already been anxious about the journey, and now Jon was leaving to go fight a war in Essos. Sam tried to comfort himself with the thought of how much Jon had already survived. The man had returned from death itself. Surely he would return from Essos.   
He knew there would be no convincing him to stay. Jon loved Daenerys, and would follow her into the seven hells if she decided that was where she must go.

Sam found him drinking ale and brooding.  
“We’re leaving in the next hour, I wanted to say goodbye,” he said.

Jon offered him a small smile. “Good luck,” Jon said. “I hope you get the writings and don’t fight with your father.”

“Good luck to you, Jon. I hope you defeat the Slavers and...come back alive.”

He hugged his friend tightly.   
He walked down to the stables, sweating now from the exertion, and hoped his father didn’t notice.   
“Father,” he greeted nervously.   
“Samwell. Help your brother.”  
Sam glanced at Dickon, who was carrying a trunk of supplies. Sam approached him and took the handle of one side. Dickon obligingly maneuvered so that they each held one handle, and Sam almost fell from the weight. He adjusted his pace and was relieved that he was able to carry his part, though the effort left him panting.

If his father noticed he didn’t say anything, he was looking over some scroll and then looking into the cart as if to make sure he was missing nothing. 

Ser Brienne was walking back to the stables, and nodded at Sam in greeting. 

She looked at Lord Tarly, and he glanced up as if feeling her gaze. 

“Ser Brienne,” he greeted brusquely, then his attention was back on the scroll.

“Lord Tarly,” she returned.

“You know each other?” Sam asked. 

“We served together in the War of the Five Kings,” father said, not looking up from the scroll. “The Tyrells declared for Renly Baratheon and she was on his Kingsguard.”

“I believe you told me that women have no place on the battlefield,” Ser Brienne said to him.

Sam peeked at his father nervously, but there was no sudden storm of rage as Sam had expected. Instead, Father lowered the scroll he was holding to look at Ser Brienne.

“I did say that,” he said, his voice still gruff. “Please accept my apology.”

Ser Brienne’s eyes widened slightly, and she looked uncomfortable. Whatever she had expected, she had not thought there would be an apology.

“Of course, My Lord,” She said warily. 

Father went back to his scroll. “We have everything?” He asked Dickon. 

“Yes, Father.”

Sam tried to board the cart without being too clumsy, and his father urged the horses to move.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, when his father glanced at him. “Say what you’re thinking.”

Sam flushed. “Oh, I wasn’t-“

“Don’t lie, it’s unbecoming.”

“Well, I just, um...it’s uh...”

“Spit it out, boy.”

“Did you really tell Ser Brienne that a battlefield was no place for a woman?”

His father sighed. “I did. Stupid thing to say, I realize now. I’ve never been afraid. Ever. Not in all the battles I’ve fought. I’ve had petty concerns, about what people might think of our family. Our reputation. You know that well enough. But fear? Not a thing I’ve experienced. When that wildling girl of yours...Gilly? That’s her name?”

“Yes, her name is Gilly.”

“When she told us you killed a white walker, Dickon and I thought she was lying. We thought the whole thing was a legend. When Queen Daenerys told us all that she was going North to fight an army of the dead, I thought she was mad. When we arrived at Winterfell, and found out King Jon was having women and girls training with the men and boys, I thought he was a fool. But that night, when I saw them... I tell you, Samwell, I was afraid. And all below, I saw all of those men and women fighting. And it was Northerners, Southerners, Wildlings, Unsullied, Dothraki. Even the Lannisters. Didn’t matter then where they were from or whether they were men or women. That little Lady Lyanna, Ser Brienne, they fought as well as any man out there. And the queen...I’ve never known a man to do the things she was doing. And Arya Stark killed the Night King himself. And I realized something. I was the fool. Now I’m not trying to belittle the courage and valor of the men who fought. But if the women who fought that night had hidden instead, as I’d have suggested only a moon before...or if the Wildlings or the foreign armies, or any of the people I would have once refused to fight beside, hadn’t been there, we’d all be corpses marching across Westeros.”

Sam was silent. This was the most his father had ever spoken to him.

“And how many times have I mocked you for all your reading? Yet, if you hadn’t done all that reading, you’d have never known about the queen’s dragonglass mines. And our people would not have had effective weapons. That night I didn’t have much time to think, only to do what I was there to do. But the next day, I had to acknowledge to myself that I was wrong. In many matters.”

Sam glanced at him, too surprised to say anything.

“Are you going to marry that girl? Gilly?” Dickon asked suddenly.

“Oh! I don’t know. We um...well, we...um...”

“We both know what the two of you do,” father said impatiently. “You showed up at Horn Hill with one babe, and anyone can see you’ve put another in her. Dickon will have Horn Hill, but after all the wars there’s more land to be had. When are you going to marry the girl?”

Sam blushed furiously. “Well, um...my Nights Watch vows-“

“Your Nights Watch vows state that you’ll father no children, so you’ve already fucked those. Anyway, what’s the Nights Watch now? You and the King in the North. That other one.”

“Edd.”

“Right. All that’s left of you, and if you’re not fighting the dead and you’re not fighting the wildings, I fail to see the purpose. You’re just going to keep fathering bastards on the girl? Ridiculous. Marry her and the queen will legitimize the children.”

Sam stared at him. “Well...all right.”

“Good. Now that’s settled, Dickon, you’re going to have to choose a wife.” 

Dickon looked at him, his head turning sharply. “Me? I was..” Dickon flushed. “I was waiting to see what the queen was going to do.”

“The queen?” Sam sputtered. “Daenerys?”

“Queen Daenerys will in all likelihood marry the King in the North, if he ever pulls his head out of the ground and proposes to her. And if not, Lord Willas Tyrell.”

“I’d still rather wait,” Dickon said, his face red.

“Fine, wait. But if she announces her betrothal, you’ll meet Eleanor Mooton.”

“Is she comely?” Dickon asked.

“Very.”

“As comely as Queen Daenerys?”

“No. But if you marry her, then after a fashion she’ll start to seem like the most beautiful woman in the world to you. Samwell, tell him.”

“Me? Um...tell him what, exactly?”

“Your Gilly. Have you ever seen a woman as comely as her?”

“Well...no. To me she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

“You see?” Father turned his attention back to Dickon. “Gilly is comely but you wouldn’t say she’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. You’ll meet Lady Eleanor once the queen is betrothed.”

They continued on in silence, and Sam thought about Gilly. About marrying her and having some land to settle on and...  
“If I marry, I can’t study at the Citadel,” Sam said suddenly.

“When Queen Daenerys builds the library you can study there.”

Sam nodded. “That’s true.” He felt the sudden excitement that stirred anytime he thought about the library. “I wonder if she’d let me help with it. To gather books and help get everything together.”

“You’ll have to ask her. But I don’t see why she wouldn’t. She speaks very well of you. She said you saved the lives of everyone in the battle of Winterfell by discovering that Dragonglass was an effective weapon against the dead. And you saved the life of her friend Ser Jorah Mormont. And speaking of Ser Jorah Mormont, I noticed his sword looked quite familiar...”

Sam flushed deeply then, sighing. “Well...um...what, uh..happened there-“

“I know what you did with the damn sword, Samwell. You know what must be done now.”

“Um...what?”

“We must find another Valyrian steel sword for you to give him in exchange for our family’s sword. Now you’ve given it, honor demands that. And once I find one and buy it, you can pay me back.”

Sam nodded, readily agreeing. 

******************************

Daenerys had met with her Unsullied and Dothraki to tell them about the threat in Essos. They had readily agreed to follow her back to Essos. Qhono had seen her bruises and offered to kill the men who had put them there, and she assured them that the men were dead.   
Once the Dothraki had seen the three bodies, they’d become quite animated, and Dany was happy to see they were proud of her and grateful to Arya. They seemed confused by Arya’s short hair, asking where was her braid?  
Surely such a warrior should have one.

She’d also felt compelled to tell Missandei about the Butterfly Fever on Naath. She’d planned to wait for Lord Willas or Qyburn to present her with something that might help avoid it, and thought she’d have more time, as Missandei had said they wouldn’t leave until Dany was safe...or dead. But now she might die in Essos, and she feared that Grey Worm and Missandei would go directly to Naath after her funeral pyre, and Dany could not take the chance of them being harmed. They needed to know. 

Dany could not remember the last time she’d prayed. She had certainly seen things, even done things, that suggested unseen forces at work. But she’d reserved anything resembling faith for herself. In her vision that faith had shattered, taking with it all the values connected to it.

Dany was afraid. Afraid she would die, afraid she would fail, afraid she would lose people she cherished in this war. She had no vision to rely on now, to warn her what was coming. Could she ask for one? Did it work like that? 

She knew Kings Landing had a Godswood, and she decided to walk to it, to see it for herself. To ask the gods she wasn’t sure she even believed in, to guide her.

She loved the trees. Alder and elm, and black cottonwood, their leaves still firmly attached to the branches, soon would change color and fall as winter took the Crownlands. At the Godswood’s center, a great oak stood, covered in smokeberry vines. 

To her surprise, Bran sat in his chair before the tree, and looked at her with a faint smile as if he’d been expecting her.

He probably was, she thought. 

“Hello, Daenerys.”

“Hello, Bran.” 

She sat down on one of the oak’s large roots. 

“We don’t have weirwoods here,” Dany said.

“No. The Andals cut them all down, long ago.”

“I’ll plant one here for you. So if you visit again, it will be here. Or I’ll have it put in my will,” she finished bitterly.

“And your lemon trees when summer returns,” he said.

She smiled. “If I live to see summer.”

“I’m gathering information for you. So you’ll know what to expect when you get to Essos.”

“Thank you, Bran. I appreciate it so much. I also appreciate your not attempting to talk me out of going.”

“That would be a waste of time and energy you don’t have. It’s your nature. Like Jon’s.”

“Our nature?”

“Heroes do stupid things, and they die.”

She looked at him sharply, then laughed. “My own words used against me.”

“It’s a favorite pastime of mine.”

“You saw everything I saw.”

“Yes.”

“What happened after? Jon told me Drogon burned the throne and carried me off somewhere-“

“Volantis. He took you to Volantis.”

“Volantis? Why would he take me there?”

“I have theories.”

“You don’t know?” She asked, studying him.

“Not really. The thread of that time died soon after you died. It was your vision. Anything that happened after could have gone any number of ways.”

She sighed, frustrated. “Did Jon take the throne?”

“The throne was gone and he was exiled back to the North for murdering you.”

“So who ruled after?”

He smiled then. “Me.”

She stared at him. “You said you couldn’t be Lord of Winterfell. You said you couldn’t be Lord of anything.”

“Yes. Tyrion nominated me to be the next king.”

“Did you like it? Being king?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to be king. But... I liked having a purpose.”

Dany felt suddenly sad for him. “You have purpose.”

“Maybe.” He sighed. “The slavers have three scorpions. I can tell you where the masters plan to hide. But remember, I can’t see the future. I can only tell you what they’re planning, not what will happen.”

She nodded. “Three scorpions.” She shuddered. But she knew if she was expecting them, she could destroy them.

“I’ve been watching them plan their entire strategy. They were hoping to assassinate you. They’re afraid of what will happen if you return.”

“They should be,” she said grimly. 

“Yes. They should. You’re going to burn them, and the Iron Bank will back your position when you win. I need to attend your war council.”

“Thank you, Bran.”

He nodded, but didn’t answer. Finally, he said, “I’m going again.”

His eyes wandered and she realized after a moment that he wasn’t with her at all.

When she returned to her room, she found Lord Willas waiting for her, talking to the guards stationed there. He smiled warmly when he saw her, and she returned the smile. 

“Your Grace, if you’re not too tired, I’d very much like to speak with you.”

“Of course,” she said, and they sat down at her table, which she’d moved closer to the large window that overlooked the city and Blackwater Bay. 

“I have something for you.” He laid a parcel across the table. “I’d had this commissioned some time ago, but it took much longer than I’d expected. It wasn’t ready until after you had already battled the dead, and won the throne. And then you were unwell from the poisoning and it felt like giving it to you at that time would just put salt on the wound. But now...I think this will serve you.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He laughed. “Well, open it,” he said, flushing. 

She obliged, and saw that it was ringmail armor, much like her own but the rings more intricate, and her family’s dragon sigil across the front. She lifted it, and gasped. It was impossibly light.

“This is Valyrian steel,” she gasped. 

“Yes. I thought that would protect you better, and would be easier to move around in.”

“Thank you so much. This is...” she smiled again, overwhelmed with gratitude. “I may owe you my life for this.”

“I already owe you mine, Your Grace, and that of my family.”

“Daenerys,” she reminded him. “We’re alone together, we don’t need such formality.”

“Daenerys,” he repeated, as if tasting her name and savoring it. “I don’t like to ask you for anything, but please...I’m begging you, don’t take unnecessary risks. If we lose you...I know you have left a will. I know you...you believe we will be all right. And on some level we will. But we’ll be devastated. You have given us something we hadn’t even thought possible. We wanted revenge. And you’ve given us that. But Daenerys, you’ve given us hope. We hadn’t even thought that far. To have hope for the future. And if you die, we’ll still have the hope you’ve given us, but...we...I will be broken in a way that will never mend.”

Daenerys reached across the table, taking his hand in both of hers. “I promise you, I will not take any unnecessary risks. But please promise me that if it happens, you’ll keep that hope. That you’ll build that future. Else all I lived for, what I fought for and died for, will be in vain.”

He nodded, and she could see that he was not able to speak. She sat holding his hands in hers, and she felt the despised claws of pain start to scratch at her belly.

“You should rest,” he said, seeing the pain on her face that she thought she’d hidden. 

They both stood, and he wrapped his arms around her. She hugged him back, tightly. 

He left her then so she could lay down, and as much as it frustrated her to need so much repose, she was grateful as she curled back into her bed and fell asleep.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the late chapter, and the shortness of it! I got sick over the weekend which sucked, and if I finished this one it wouldn’t be out till Friday, so I figured I’d break it into two chapters!  
Thank you all for your amazing comments, your support is amazing! And special thanks to ReganX for your awesome suggestion on addressing the Jon parentage thing, which I started in this chapter and will expand in the next one!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some conversations; Sansa talks to Willas about the North, Dany brings Jon and Arya to hang out with her dragons and discusses some medical stuff with Qyburn, and Jon and Ser Davos discuss Dany and Jon’s relationship.  
This is more of a half chapter because of my being sick this weekend. I hope you enjoy it! :-)

Chapter Twenty Nine 

Sansa was walking down the hall, resolutely. Jon and Daenerys were leaving in a few days, and they might not return. Daenerys particularly seemed to have somewhat accepted that she would die, and then Lord Willas would be King. 

Sansa had to speak with him. She was not the Lady of Winterfell now, and it ached when she thought about it. But her duty to the North remained unchanged.

Bran had told her that Daenerys originally planned to pay the entire debt to the Iron Bank, but the Tyrells had convinced her otherwise. She needed to know his intentions.

She found him deep in conversation with Sarella Sand, both of them surrounded by books. Sarella was looking at him affectionately, and Sansa stood for a moment in front of them, feeling awkward but firm.

They both glanced at her, and Sarella’s dark, beautiful eyes turned to ice. 

“What do you want?” She demanded. “Did you come to insult my aunt and my queen again?”

Sansa lifted her chin defiantly. “No. I must speak with Lord Willas.”

Lord Willas’ soft brown eyes were not as cold as Sarella’s but nowhere near as warm as they’d been before. 

“Please sit,” he said, his voice cool but not unkind.

She hesitated. “I want to speak to you alone,” she said.

Sarella rolled her eyes. “I’ll go see if I can find those books you mentioned,” she told Lord Willas. She swept out of the room, her eyes throwing daggers at Sansa as she went.

Sansa sat down across from Lord Willas. 

“How can I help you, Lady Sansa?”

“I’m not a lady anymore,” she said, forcing her voice not to break.

“Would you prefer I no longer address you that way? I only intended respect, but of course I won’t if it’s just salt in the wound.”

Sansa sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t matter. I know you’re angry at me.”

“You endangered Queen Daenerys. Her life, her reign. Why?”

“I wanted independence.”

“She wasn’t challenging your independence.”

“Lord Willas, every ruler I’ve been forced to bow to here, has only brought me harm. They all made promises and they all broke them.”

“She helped save the North. It seemed like you and she had somewhat of a friendship.”

“Petyr Baelish rescued me from Kings Landing and seemed to be a friend, then he betrayed me and married me to Ramsey Bolton.”

Lord Willas sighed. “I’m so sorry for what you went through. Truly, I am. You must realize that Queen Daenerys is not like him.”

“I don’t know what she’s like. I only know what she shows people. Anyone can put on a mummer show, but it doesn’t mean they can be trusted.”

“Your brother the king trusts her. He’s your family.”

“My brother is in love with her. Men are stupid when they’re in love.”

Lord Willas laughed at that. “I suppose that’s true. But you trust him.”

“I trust his honor, but not always his judgment. My brother Robb, too, was honorable, then he fell in love and got himself, my mother and our bannermen killed. My Aunt Lysa was my family, but she was in love with Lord Baelish and tried to murder me because she thought he was in love with me.”

Lord Willas studied her. “I understand your not trusting people. You’ve been through so much, how could you? But if Queen Daenerys was such a terrible person, what do you think she’d have done after your actions at the feast?” Sansa started to answer, but he pressed on. “Do you believe your Aunt Lysa, or Petyr Baelish, or Cersei or Joffrey would have gone North to help fight the dead?”

Sansa sighed. “I know I was wrong. But...I wanted someone on the throne who would give us independence and not allow us to starve.”

“You mean someone who would support your kingdom financially, while holding no expectation of your kingdom’s support in return. And what made you think some other Targaryen heir would do so? You said your Aunt Lyanna was married to Prince Rhaegar. I’m assuming since you called into question the queen’s right to rule, that you believe they had a child. How do you know this person would be any kinder to the North than Queen Daenerys? It seems to me she’s shown you all nothing but kindness.”

“It’s Jon,” Sansa said, quickly, not allowing herself to think about it. “My father never betrayed my mother. Jon was my Aunt Lyanna’s son by Rhaegar Targaryen. They were married. My father was afraid Robert Baratheon would kill Jon, so he lied to protect him. His name is Aegon Targaryen.”

Lord Willas frowned thoughtfully. “Does Queen Daenerys know this?”

“Yes. Do you wonder why she didn’t tell you?”

“I imagine it was because it’s not her secret to tell. Frankly, it isn’t yours to tell, either.”

“She said that it would get out and Jon had to decide what he wants to do about it. She offered him the throne but he didn’t want it.”

“And I suppose now that he still hasn’t decided what to do, and still doesn’t want the throne. And I wouldn’t assume so readily that Rhaegar marrying a second wife would be accepted, let alone an unlawful annulment. What was your motive in announcing it at the feast?”

“I was hoping that he would be forced to take the throne then. And he’d let us be independent but he wouldn’t starve us.”

Lord Willas looked angry now. “How would he be forced to take the throne if he didn’t want it? Heirs can abdicate. It’s only if Queen Daenerys were assassinated, that he would be forced to take it.”

Sansa lowered her eyes, looking at her hands and flushing. “I hadn’t thought about that too closely. But it was...it felt like it was her or me. Her or the North. I chose the North.”

Lord Willas was silent and she glanced at him. He was quite clearly furious. His knuckles had gone white and his face flushed. 

“You thought she would be killed and your brother made king,” he said, and his voice was not cruel, but had grown ice cold. “You would be queen in an independent North, and you believed Jon would support you nonetheless. Even though he would face the same challenges as Queen Daenerys, taking funds from the six kingdoms to give to the North. More so, as his Northern upbringing would call into question his integrity as a ruler. And Queen Daenerys would...” he shuddered. 

“I didn’t want to be under the control of the throne. I didn’t want to be under someone like Cersei.”

“So you decided to become like Cersei yourself.”

Sansa felt herself flushing at the insult. “I don’t think I was...like Cersei...but even if-“

“Not like Cersei?” Lord Willas’ voice was suddenly fierce. “What would Cersei have done here? My sister was no threat to Cersei’s life. Only to her power. Margaery was good. She was kind. She was smart. She would have been a great queen, a truly great queen. The nobles loved her. The commoners loved her. She wasn’t going to harm Cersei in any significant way, she just wanted her away from Kings Landing. And Cersei put dangerous people into a position of power, just to ensure her own. And when that backfired, she murdered my sister. And my father and brother. All Cersei cared about was her power, not the people who would have flourished with my sister as their queen, not the fact that my sister did no harm to her. Yes, Lady Sansa, you behaved like Cersei. I understand that your losses and pain have made you mistrustful and afraid. But you deliberately endangered someone who has done nothing but protect your home and your people.” He sighed, and his voice and expression softened. “You’re young. You have a chance to be better than that. I believe you have it in you to be better than that. My sister and grandmother were quite fond of you once. Be better.”

Sansa’s lip trembled, and she bit down on it, remembering her purpose in coming to him.

“What are your intentions with the North?” She demanded.

“My...what? I don’t have intentions with the North.”

“If Queen Daenerys doesn’t return, you’ll be the king,” she said.  
Lord Willas flinched as if she’d struck him, and she felt immediately guilty.

“I will keep to her wishes,” he finally said. “The decision will be left to the North.”

“And our choices will be independence or starvation,” Sansa said coldly.

Lord Willas sighed. “Lady Sansa, you’re not a child. If you want an independent kingdom, then you would have to be independent. I would never seek to harm a region that isn’t an enemy. But nor would I place the needs of a region left to my protection, behind those of an independent kingdom. And my hope is that the queen returns unharmed and able to resume her duties.”

“She offered to loan Jon the gold to carry us through winter and pay the Iron Bank.”

“Then you’d best hope she returns unharmed, too.”

“I do,” Sansa responded. “I didn’t really want her to be harmed.”

“It sounds like you didn’t care one way or the other.”

“The North comes first,” Sansa said.

“Of course. To you. To me, she comes first. And she didn’t do anything to harm the North. You did something that could have harmed her. And if she were a different kind of person, your actions could have harmed the North, too.”

Sansa sighed. “I appreciate your honesty,” she said tightly. 

“Likewise,” Lord Willas said. 

“If she doesn’t come back...you won’t honor her promise to Jon?”

“I’ll discuss that with King Jon when he returns.”

“And if...if he doesn’t come back either?”

“Then I’ll discuss it with your brother Bran.” 

Sansa nodded. “Thank you.”

“It’s not me you should thank. They’re her promises, not mine.” He hesitated. “Lady Sansa, you are a good woman. I know you are. What you did wasn’t good. I know you don’t trust Queen Daenerys, but please don’t put her in danger again. Watch her. You’ll see she’s not like the monsters who hurt you.”

Sarella entered the room then, carrying a stack of books, dropping them onto the table, hard, with a resounding thump.

“May we continue our discussion?” She asked Lord Willas, not glancing at Sansa.

“We were finished,” Sansa said, getting up. “Thank you, my lord,” she said to Lord Willas, then turned and left the room.

She was walking back to her own chambers. She remembered again how desperately she’d once wanted to come here, to Kings Landing. How she hated it now! 

She saw Podrick, who had followed her, and had waited for her, and she smiled faintly. 

“Lady Sansa,” he greeted. 

“Ser Podrick,” she responded. 

He flushed. “Oh, I’m not a knight, my lady,” he said.

She laughed bitterly. “I’m not a lady,” she pointed out.

“You are to me,” he said. 

She looked at him, surprised. “Thank you, Podrick.”

He smiled shyly. “It’s the truth. You...you went to Lord Willas to talk to him about the North.”

“Yes. I know it seems like I’m being...” she broke off.

“Strong,” Podrick said. “It seems like you’re being strong. And brave.” Sansa’s eyes shot to his face suspiciously, but there was no guile there, only open admiration. “You are trying to stand up for your people. Maybe that whole thing at the feast was...not the right step to take. But you never stop taking steps, you never give up. I remember when we were here, all those years ago. We were just kids, really. And everything you went through. And I remember you escaping Ramsey Bolton.”

“You and Ser Brienne saved me.”

“Only after you and Theon Greyjoy saved yourselves,” he said. “And then you convinced your brother to take back your home. After you did, you were gathering stores and making sure the armor was lined for warmth. You figured out what Littlefinger was doing. I don’t think anyone’s ever managed to do that before. You were always the bravest and most beautiful-“ he stopped, his face turning red. “I’m sorry, my lady. That was presumptuous to say.”

Sansa smiled at him. “I insulted the queen and publicly denounced her claim to the throne. I’m not in a position to say anything about presumption,” she pointed out. 

“I just...I meant no disrespect.”

“I didn’t feel disrespected,” she assured him.  
They walked together in silence back to her room.

*******************************

Daenerys found Jon sparring with Arya. She watched them, sitting down. She wanted to have him come with her to sit with her dragons for awhile. If she truly was not going to make it back, she needed him to strengthen his bond with Rhaegal. The three dragons loved each other, they were brothers. If even one of them had a beloved rider, it could keep them all safe. 

His movements were fluid as he sparred, as if he’d been born with a sword in his hand, and she watched, entranced. Beautiful, she thought. He’s so beautiful. 

Arya herself was a phenomenon, her grace unmatched.  
Jon saw Dany and smiled, walking toward her.  
“You don’t have to stop,” she said, returning the smile.  
“We were finished,” he said, glancing at Arya, who approached her as well.  
“When you’re up to it, I’ll still practice with you,” she offered.  
“Thank you so much for that. What I was hoping,” she went on, turning to Jon, “was that you would come spend some time with my dragons.”  
Jon nodded, and Arya’s face lit up. “Can I come too?”  
Dany laughed. “All right.”

They walked together toward the dragon pit. Dany hadn’t wanted to share the information of the clutch of eggs, but no doubt Bran knew about them and would tell Sansa. She was afraid someone would try to harm them, but she knew Viserion would protect them.  
Once they reached the dragon pit, Dany walked ahead to talk to her children, and then turned and motioned for Jon and Arya to enter as well.  
Rhaegal nuzzled at Jon in welcome, which gave Dany hope.  
Arya was looking at them in awe, and gasped when she saw the clutch.

“There are eggs!” She said.  
Dany smiled proudly. “Yes, six of them,” she said.  
Arya was smiling widely now in excitement. “So there will be six baby dragons?” Dany nodded, beaming. “What are they like? When they’re babies?”  
“Little. Like cats. My children were very affectionate. But we’ll see.” She hoped she would see, she thought. But if not...”Jon,”  
She said, “if I don’t come back, you must be here when they hatch. Please.”  
She saw on his face a flash of anguish. “Dany, you’ll come back.”  
“Of course. Of course I will. But if I don’t. I know you want to go North, and I’m sorry to put this on you. But no one else can do this. I don’t want them to be...without a person to protect them.”  
Jon almost laughed. “Protect them? They’re dragons. What could...” and then his eyes darkened, remembering.

Dany still had to force her voice to sound calm, force it not to break into a sob, even after the moons since this had been on her mind. “I don’t want them to be alone. They have each other but...I don’t want them hunted, or harmed. They’re dangerous, and terrifying to people who don’t understand them or know them...”

Jon looked solemn now. “I’ll look after them,” he said softly. 

She nodded. She hated to have to trust him with her children after what had happened in that other life, but he was the only one who could have such a bond with a dragon as she had. Rhaegal loved him.  
She was afraid, and hated it. Could Jon love Rhaegal as Rhaegal loved him?  
Or could he never love his dragon as he loved his wolf?  
Rhaegal was his, perhaps still not so much as hers, but the bond was there. Her children would always be hers, she had hatched them, nursed them at her own breast, raised them, ridden them.  
But Rhaegal had bonded with Jon.

Dany feared that, just as in his heart he wanted to be Stark, not Targaryen, just as in that other life he’d turned on her, for his other family, just as he cherished his wolf nature and feared his dragon nature, he might never love his dragon as he loved his wolf.

But if she died, he was her only hope for her children. Hadn’t he taken her side in this life over Sansa’s? Hadn’t he insisted on joining her in Essos?  
She had to find some way to make him understand that they would need love. They were ferocious and fierce, but they had it in them to love and protect, that they needed protection just as they provided it.  
If Jon could never accept his own dragon nature, he might reject her dragons.  
It was perhaps the worst, most anguished aspect to her of dying. Leaving her children.

After she’d sat with her dragons and found herself wishing Arya was a Targaryen too, as the woman was clearly more awed than afraid, she stood to return to her rooms. The three of them walked together back inside.

“We’re going to get some food, do you want to sup with us?” Jon offered. Dany glanced at Arya, who was also looking at her welcomingly, but then she remembered Sansa. 

The woman was falling apart here at Kings Landing, and as angry as Dany was at her, and as much as she’d had to insist on taking action for what Sansa had done, she couldn’t help but understand in part why she had done it; the rage and loss and grief that consumed the rational, was too familiar to Dany. 

What would have happened if, in her childhood, Dany had been kept here at the Keep, young and frightened and surrounded by enemies?  
What if at so young an age, she’d had Cersei as a dominant mother figure?  
Dany had had no mother figure, so she’d had to become her own.

But what if she hadn’t? Instead watching her family die, one by one? If instead of her three beloved children, she’d had one wolf, who’d been killed by Cersei’s viciousness?

Dany couldn’t allow what time she had left, to be consumed by Sansa, she’d already cried once over her cruelty and irrational dislike of her, and with so little time left to her, once was too much.

But nor could she take from Sansa the comfort of her family. If Dany was supping with them, maybe Sansa wouldn’t. And even if she would, Dany had no desire to sit and be insulted.

“Thank you so much for offering, but I have some work I must do.”

She walked to the room where her guards were keeping Qyburn.

It was not a cell, but a small room that was guarded, and she’d made certain he could have the books he requested.

When she entered, she found the man bent over some of those books, absorbed in them, but he stood respectfully when she entered.

“Your Grace,” he greeted her. He was studying the bruises on her face and throat, but said nothing.

She nodded at him in greeting and sat down.

“I have a question to ask you,” she said.

He sat down as well. “What’s the question?”

“Do you know of something that is effective against pain, that does not cause sleep?”

“There are certainly medicines for pain, but most of them will cause sleepiness or are not as effective.”

“I don’t need them to be as powerful as milk of the poppy, I just need to lessen the pain so I don’t fall in battle.”

“Are you expecting a battle?”

Dany sighed, and explained what had happened with the attack, the letter, and Daario’s imminent arrival.

Qyburn frowned. “You wish to go to Essos and give them their freedom.”

“Their freedom isn’t mine to give them. They must take it. I intend to go there and provide support, as an ally, to help them do so. And avenge those the masters have harmed.”

“Avenge them?”

“I’m going to kill the masters.”

Qyburn nodded thoughtfully. “In a few moons, once you choose a Maester to do the procedure that must be done, you likely won’t have pain as you do now.”

“I can’t wait moons. I’m leaving in a few days.”

“Your Grace, I realize my counsel means less than nothing to you, but I must caution you against that. You have injuries caused by the poison. Every exertion opens them. Forgive my boldness, but you have bruises on you that suggest you are not resting as you should.”

“I was attacked,” she repeated.

“So you’ve said. I’d wager those injuries were opened further by that.”

Dany winced, remembering the blinding pain when the assassin had kicked her stomach.

“Very likely,” she agreed. “Still, I must act right away. If I support them now, and we win, the Iron Bank will intercede and the trade as we know it will be destroyed.”

“And then you may very well die.”

“I was hoping you might advise me on some medicine that will ease pain but not in a manner that will make me unable to effectively fight them.”

He sighed. “I’ll write down some components that can be mixed together that will help, and I imagine you’ll want some Maester to look it over to ensure I’m not poisoning you. But you must at least also take something to avoid infection. It would be a terrible thing if you were to crush the slave trade, rebuild the city to be the best it’s been in generations, and then die. You’d never see the world you’ve remade, and we’ll never see how you would have ruled it.”

Dany sighed. “I will not have remade the world alone, and that new world will live on. Of course I hope to survive. But that’s never promised.”

Qyburn sighed. “You certainly are stubborn, Your Grace. Give me the afternoon to find what you need. Finding the right balance in pain medicine can be tricky. You’ll want to try it before you leave, to be certain.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I have another question, if you can answer.”

“Yes?” He leaned forward attentively.

“Do you know of anything that can prevent or cure the Butterfly Fever in Naath?”

Qyburn sighed. “It’s ideal to avoid Naath during the day. That’s when the butterflies are out. But if you’ve decided you’re set on going to Naath, you’ll want to start simply. Purchase some honey that was made there. Try to purchase their fruit and eat that as well. I’m going to give you a long list of instructions, but I’m begging you, do not go there before you’ve done these things. And if you absolutely must, go at night and only stay a few hours. I will give you a list of herbs and oils you can use to anoint yourself, it will be costly but much less so than not using them. The scent deters most of the insects and you’ll be less likely to contract the disease.”

“Thank you so much for this,” she said.

“Truly, I’m happy to help, Your Grace.”

She walked back to her chambers. She needed to rest, but first she had to review her books on history and battles. She would only get one chance at this, and she needed to win. 

*******************************

Jon was preparing for another war. Maps were scattered over the table in front of him. He hated war, but he knew Dany was right, this had to be done, and it had to be now. He wished fervently that she would have allowed him to go in her stead, but she was right about that as well; if only one dragon could go, it would have to be Drogon. He was the largest, the strongest, the fastest.

He remembered now the terrible day that Viserion had been speared and killed by the Night King. He had thrown a second spear at Drogon and the dragon had dodged it easily.

Dany was better on her dragon than Jon could ever hope to be on Rhaegal. He was significantly better than she with a sword, but she far exceeded his skill at dragonriding.

Growing up, Jon had read many stories about the dragonriders of old, and he wondered now if they had been as good as she was. He couldn’t imagine they’d be better. It was an incomprehensible thing to him sometimes; to think of the legends he and his siblings had learned and acted out in their childhood, of silver haired dragonriders, and then to meet one, to love one, to lay with her. To hear her laughter and see her vulnerability. He still felt sick at his treatment of her in that other life, and how even in this life they’d all depended so much on her strength, never considering the existence of her fragility. 

His people, he could even understand; how could they imagine her to be fragile? She was a living embodiment of the legends they’d all absorbed in their youth, and the daughter of a madman.

She was the last living vestige of an empire. Jon may be a Targaryen, or a Sand or Snow of the Targaryen line, however they looked at it. But she was the only Targaryen of old, born of only Targaryen blood. Her kind would be gone from the world once she died. Even if she had children, even if those children were his, there could never again be one like her, and all the good and bad that went with that would be lost forever one day.

His mind was fixed now on the idea of children, her children by him...she’d conceived a child with him in that other life. If Qyburn or Kinvara or one of these people to whom Willas had entreated, could find some way to save her, perhaps Jon would be able to convince her of his love. And perhaps they would have children. His chest ached, thinking of her in that other life. Alone and broken and angry, stricken with grief, and carrying his child.

He’d abandoned her so utterly that she’d never told him, and he had murdered her and the babe.

He shuddered. He wanted to explain it to her, the terrible fear he’d had, that she would burn the world, impose her vast will on everyone and everything. She had not seemed to regret what she’d done that day, and was quite clearly planning to do it again. 

But her face, the childlike expression on her features, haunted him.

It’s not easy to see something that’s never been before, she’d said. A good world.

He winced. He would not allow her to shatter alone after the slow murder of her soul, he would stand with her and support her, and if she would still let him, he would build that new world with her.

He heard a knock at the door, and called out to enter, still looking at the maps he’d found of Essos.

Ser Davos entered, looking at him in concern.

“How are you feeling?”

“Anxious,” Jon said with a faint smile. “You?”

“Anxious as well, if I’m being honest. I’ll admit I’ve grown fond of you, Your Grace. And now you’re off to another war.”

Jon nodded. “I have to go with her.”

“I understand,” Ser Davos said, smiling. “And I can’t argue with the logic. I just hope you and she make it back safely. You have to remember, everyone fights differently. This is a land you don’t know.”

“I know. But the North was a land she didn’t know, a land her armies didn’t know. And she came anyway. And if something happens, I need to be there.”

“Of course,” Ser Davos said. “If there’s any way I can help, you know I’m here.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. I’d like to ask you to try to keep an eye on Sansa...but I haven’t managed to do so well at that myself.”

Ser Davos nodded thoughtfully. “She hates being here.”

“She didn’t have to come.”

“I’m no expert on these matters, but it seems to me that she’s afraid to be put into a position where she would be harmed. Sometimes fear can make a person act irrationally. She would want to be here to have a say in things.”

Jon nodded. “She wants the North to be independent, but then she’s upset about the North being treated as an independent kingdom. I know she’s been through a lot. But she endangered Dany-Queen Daenerys-and I can’t...” he broke off as the anger surged again.

“If I may be so bold as to make a suggestion,” Ser Davos began, and Jon looked at him expectantly. “Why don’t you marry her? It’s clear to anyone that you two love each other. It would unite the realm and remove any significant threat.”

Jon sighed. “I asked her. She said no.”

“She said no?”

“Ser Davos...you’ve seen some things. Magical things.”

“That I have.”

“Dany had a vision. Moons ago. About everything that happened. Once she told me about some of it, I asked Bran to fill in the details, and then I had a few dreams about it. I abandoned her. I never really stood up for her. I betrayed her. And she lost everything. Two of her dragons died, and her friends too. She...she burned Kings Landing. They surrendered and she burned the city, burned civilians. She wasn’t even her anymore. She was going to conquer all of Westeros, and then Essos, anyone who didn’t bend the knee would burn. And I...I murdered her. In cold blood I murdered her.”

“It sounds like you’ve both made changes.”

“She made changes. By the time I found out about it, she’d already been dead in that vision. I did all the same things. I asked her to come fight with the dead but offered her nothing in return. I didn’t do anything to make her feel welcome, nor did I demand the Northerners show her the slightest respect or gratitude for what she did for us.”

“They were grateful,” Ser Davos pointed out.

“Because of things she did differently. I told Sansa about my parentage. Sansa betrayed my trust. I abandoned Dany when I found out about it. I did every stupid thing I did the first time.”

“To be fair, Your Grace, you didn’t have the vision.”

“She understands that. And even though she knew that I’d murdered her in that vision, she still allowed me to come to Dragonstone, she still allowed me to mine the dragonglass, she still joined the fight against the dead, even though she had a plan of her own, she still...” he flushed. 

“She still fell in love with you.”

Jon nodded. “But she can’t trust me. She knows why I killed her, but she doesn’t want to be with me. She thinks I’ll always put my duty before her. She thinks I asked her to marry me because she’s dying and I won’t have to honor my vows for long.”

“I see. And is that true?”

“No. Of course not. If I could I would give my life in exchange for hers, I would. I offered. Kinvara refused.”

“And she knows this?”

“Yes. She refused too. But she says I’d be willing to die for any number of things and it doesn’t mean I love her.”

“She doesn’t believe you love her?”

“She thinks it doesn’t matter. She...she thinks I’ll always put my duty before her. And she likes to come first.”

Ser Davos chuckled a little at that. “I imagine she does. But surely your going to Essos with her shows her that you’re willing to put her first?”

“I don’t know. I’m not going with her to make some kind of point. I’m going with her because if something happens to her while she’s gone, and I’m not there to do everything in my power to save her, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“You’re a good man, Your Grace. Maybe the best I’ve ever known. You’ve done so much for your people. You deserve some happiness in this shit world. And the only time I’ve seen you look truly happy was with her.”

Jon smiled faintly. “Aye. She made me happy. She gave me everything. But I didn’t do the same for her.”

“I don’t know about that. She looked happy with you, too.”

“She was for awhile.”

“Her eyes light up when she see you. She loves you, Your Grace. And you love her. Sure, you have some problems, but-“

“Problems? Ser Davos, I murdered her. She remembers it. Remembers how I was kissing her and slid my dagger into her. She trusted me. The last thing she ever felt was betrayal.”

“You killed her while you were kissing her?”

“I wanted it to be as painless as possible. And I was afraid...my father....my uncle, I mean...he said the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. That we owe it to a man we’ve condemned to look into his eyes, and hear what he has to say. What she said that day, was that she was going to conquer...the world. The world, Ser Davos, and there would have been no stopping her. If I waited...if I looked into her eyes...I don’t think I could have done it. I could never look into that face...and harm her. It was cowardly. I know it was. I was hoping to avoid her dying in any pain. Hoping if I was kissing her she would feel how much I loved her. But all she felt, all she remembers, is I betrayed her. Murdered her.”

Ser Davos looked thoughtful, and Jon could see he was weighing it. 

A knock sounded at the door, and Jon called to come in. 

Lord Willas entered, nodding in greeting. 

“Ser Davos. Your Grace, I know you’re very busy, but if you have a moment, I’d like to speak to you about an urgent matter. When you have an opportunity, please let me know.”

“Sit down,” Jon said, indicating an empty chair at the table.

“Thank you.” Lord Willas took the offered seat. “Someone told me something...about what your sister said at the feast.”

Jon sighed deeply now. “Sansa. She told you.” Lord Willas glanced at Ser Davos. “He knows,” Jon said. “He knows everything.”

Lord Willas took a deep breath. “She did. I’m certainly not trying to make trouble for her. I’m extremely displeased that she would endanger Queen Daenerys, but I know Lady Sansa is going through something and I don’t wish to make it worse. But her lack of discretion is dangerous. It’s dangerous to the queen, and it’s dangerous to you. Dorne was already angry. Princess Elia and her children were murdered quite brutally. Even if such an annulment were legal, and I regret to say there is no way it would be, it would mean Rhaegar bastardized his own children before their horrific murders. If Dorne had a target for that anger-“

“Queen Daenerys explained this to me,” Jon said dismally. “And the danger to her as well. I explained it to Sansa. We had a council with her advisors and mine at Winterfell. I imagine the only reason Queen Daenerys didn’t tell you herself was that you-“

“Because it wasn’t her secret to tell me. I understand. But if Lady Sansa understands the danger, I think you should perhaps have another council about it. You have to decide ultimately what you wish to do about it. Lady Sansa may just keep telling people. She thinks that if the queen were assassinated, you would be forced to take the throne.”

Jon felt the weight of despair pressing on him now. Again he asked himself why he had ever told her. Ygritte had been right. He knew nothing. He should have listened to Dany.

“I don’t even know what to do about it,” he said desperately. “I don’t want the throne, and if Rhaegar was taken out of the line of succession, this should have kept Dany-Queen Daenerys-safe.”

“If it’s acceptable to you, and to the queen, we could hold a council and have a discussion about it. But without express permission from you and her, I will tell no one of this.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Jon said, sighing.

“I’m sorry to add further anxiety to a situation I imagine is already tense for both of you. But as Lady Sansa has shown on a few occasions now, that she either doesn’t understand the danger or just doesn’t care, I think we should be examining options for how to handle this information.” 

“I appreciate it,” Jon said. 

Lord Willas stood. “I’ll take my leave, unless there was anything you wanted to discuss?”

“No. Thank you, my lord.”

He nodded, and left the room.

Jon shook his head, frustrated. “I never should have told Sansa. Dany told me this would happen.”

“It’s understandable you’d want to tell your family.”

“I wanted her to know that her father never betrayed her mother. I never thought she would do this.”

He sighed. Much like Lord Willas, Jon dreaded adding another burden to Dany’s small shoulders on which the weight of Essos and Westeros already rested. But she had to know.


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry I’m late with my update (again!)  
I’ve been sick, then of course my depression decided it was a good time to rear it’s ugly head, then my dumb a$$ decided it was a good idea to watch some scenes from S7 and S8, and I can’t believe how much it still hurts.
> 
> I have been comforting myself by reading other stories on this site, and I am so grateful for the stories on here. I wish y’all wrote S7 and S8 instead of D&D.
> 
> So my chapters have been shorter, and I have writers block which is inexplicable since I’ve outlined the entire rest of the story. As a result, my aim to have my two adored lovebirds back together by Ch 30 has failed utterly and they end up in a messy fight this chapter. 
> 
> But they WILL get back together, get married, have Targlings, rule together and be happy...eventually.
> 
> There will be NO LOVE TRIANGLES! They might both be jealous af but neither of them will be with anyone else.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your comments and kudos, and most of all for continuing to read my story, you are all so awesome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Dany and Jon have a huge fight; part of this is that there are things they need to say to each other and part of it is that Dany is hoping that picking a fight will make Jon not go to Essos.  
They have a council to discuss Jon’s parentage.  
Thank you again, ReganX for the perfect solution for what they should do about this, you are brilliant and I appreciate you so much!  
Sansa tries one more angle to get her title back, and then starting next chapter I’ll be aiming toward her redemption. I liked her (until S8).  
Tyrion finds out more about the vision.

Chapter Thirty 

Daenerys studied the bottle Maester Lomys had given her. True to his word, Qyburn had given her a scroll with what was essentially a recipe for a medicine that would ease her pain without sending her into slumber. She could not be stopped mid battle by sudden bouts of agony, nor could she allow herself to sleep through it. He’d worked quickly and she was impressed. He’d also given her a long list of instructions to follow before venturing to Naath, which she gave to Missandei.

Qyburn had also given her a warning: that pain often indicated that something was wrong, and with the natural heat she generated, a fever could easily be missed, and without any pain or fever, something might be happening inside her, that she wouldn’t notice until it was too late.

He’d also made certain to create the recipe from components that were already in the Maester’s chambers to save time, but urged her again to stay until the procedure was completed.

She couldn’t do that. Too many could die waiting. 

She had revisited her will. With the gifts from Essos and Yi Ti, there would be enough wealth to ensure rebuilding. There were other things to go over as well, so she had asked for a council that afternoon. Once Daario arrived they would have the war council. 

She was increasingly concerned about Jon’s safety. She had tried to talk him out of joining her, but he was not to be swayed. 

He’s so stubborn, she thought in despair.

She had told Kinvara that if something happened to him, she must allow Dany to give her life in exchange for his. Dany might die anyway, and no matter how Jon insisted that her wars were his, she could not allow him to die in this. Kinvara had assured her this would be unnecessary, but Dany was still afraid for him.

Dany could not help but to be moved by his wanting to come with her to Essos. She didn’t want to allow herself the luxury of believing he could love her as she loved him. But he must love her, to leave his home, his continent, to follow her across the Narrow Sea and join her battle. 

As if her thoughts of him had summoned him, she heard a knock at her door, and his voice calling to her. 

She quickly took the dosage of the medicine, and called for him to come in.  
He entered, and the expression on his face warned her that he had something to tell her, that she would not like.

She braced herself. “What is it?” She asked.

“Sansa told Lord Willas about my parents,” he said. “I’m sorry, Dany. I should have listened to you.”

Daenerys felt her stomach knot in anger. “I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s going to keep telling people. And even if she doesn’t, she’s already done the damage at the feast. People will talk and figure it out.”

“Lord Willas said we should hold a council.”

“I’m having one this afternoon regarding my final wishes. I’m concerned about whether it’s wise to discuss this subject at that council, because Sarella Sand and Arianne Martell will be there. I don’t want to put you in harm’s way.”

“Final wishes,” he repeated, as if that was all he had heard.

“It’s a precaution. My last will won’t cover everything, because now the war is won. If you’re certain you don’t want the throne-“

“I don’t.”

“Then I’ll officially name Lord Willas my heir. But Jon, think about it. What about your children?”

“I don’t have children.”

“Not now. But maybe after I’m gone, you’ll want a family. You’re the last of our line.”

“Dany, all I want is you.”

She looked at him tenderly. “Jon, you want peace. I’ll never have peace. I’m a monster”

“You are not a monster,” he said fiercely.

“No, I am. I’ve made a kind of peace with it. Only a monster would do what I did that day. Some would say my children are monsters, and their children when they hatch. But so long as I live, we will be the kind of monsters that protect the innocent from other monsters.” She walked to him, bringing her hand to his face, resting it against his cheek. “But not you. You’re not a monster. You’re a hero. And you’re tired of fighting. I’ll always be fighting. You can have peace, at last. I was foolish to think I could.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “You are my peace.”

She returned the embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. His body felt steady against hers, strong and hard but yielding as he held her. “I’m no one’s peace. I’ll be fighting until I die, whether it’s in this battle or the next one or the one after. Or the poison.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Then I’ll be fighting beside you.”

“Jon, at some point the North will make their decision, and now without the fear of starving, they can choose the independence they’ve wanted. You’ll have to go back North. You can’t keep fighting my battles.”

“I’m never leaving you. If they choose independence they can choose a new king.”

“The North is your home. You’ll never be happy here.”

“I know I told you that. It was true at the time. It’s not anymore.” 

“No? Where’s your home now, King in the North?” She smiled teasingly up at him. 

He touched her face now, cupping it between his hands, and his dark eyes fixed on hers.

“Right here,” he said.

Dany felt a painful thickness in her throat. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she pulled away from him, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Jon, it hurts me when you say things like that.”

“Why? Because you don’t believe me? Or because you don’t love me anymore?”

“I’ll always love you,” she said softly. 

“But not the way you did before.”

“I love you as I always have,” she told him. “But we both know how this ends.”

“How? You can’t really think I would ever hurt you like that again?”

“I don’t think you’re planning to hurt me. But I can’t just believe that you won’t.”

“So you don’t believe me. You think I would lie about something like this.”

“No, I don’t think you would lie. I think right now you believe it. But what if I don’t die in this war, Jon? What if I come back and Qyburn’s writings have some way to save me?”

“Don’t you know that’s what I want?” Jon demanded.

“Maybe you do, but-“

“Maybe?” He was getting angry, she could see his eyes, almost black and glittering with it. 

Good, she thought. If he was angry, he wouldn’t be declaring a love that she wanted too much, and knew she could never truly have. 

And maybe if he was angry enough, he would decide not to follow her to Essos and risk his life for a war that had nothing to do with him.

She raised her chin, looking at him defiantly. “Maybe,” she repeated.

The anger on his face turned to hurt, and and her own heart ached.

“You’re never going to forgive me, are you?”

She felt as if she were bleeding. “I did forgive you. I said I wanted a relationship with you. Nephew.” He winced. “Didn’t I agree to join you to fight the dead? Gave you the dragonglass?”

“Aye, you did. That’s not what I mean.”

“You mean, give you my heart so you can break it. Or put a dagger into it, after I foolishly beg you to be with me.”

He was staring at her, and she desperately wanted to go to him, to wrap her arms around him and comfort him. To tell him how deeply his words had touched her. How fervently she wanted them to be true. But she had to remember how easily he’d turned on her. And more, she had to try to dissuade him from joining her in Essos. 

“Dany, do you think that was an easy thing for me? I heard Drogon roar as soon as the life left you. He came in and I thought sure he’d burn me. I didn’t run. I didn’t even try. I had nothing to live for.”

“Are you trying to make yourself the victim here? Poor Jon. Your poor feelings. You murdered me! I trusted you and you murdered me!”

“You burned the city! They surrendered and you burned them! Children. Babies. You deliberately targeted civilians!”

There it is, she thought. The anger. Come on, Jon Snow. Aegon Targaryen. Get angry.

Do you want to wake the dragon? Her brother’s voice echoed in her head.

Yes, she thought. 

“Didn’t you hang a child?” She demanded.

“He stabbed me,” Jon thundered at her. “He betrayed me and stabbed me.”

“Oh, is that what we do in Westeros when someone betrays and stabs us? Funny. You seem pretty alive to me, and you betrayed and stabbed me. I didn’t harm you, even knowing that. But you’re the merciful one.”

“He didn’t stab me after I’d murdered a city.”

“No, he stabbed you for welcoming people who murdered a village. His village. But I guess when your good friend Tormund butchered men, women and children, that was different?” 

“It was different!”

“How?” She demanded. Now she was getting angry too.

“They just wanted to get south of the Wall.”

“Olly’s village was south of the Wall, and so was Mole’s Town. They already were south of the Wall. There was no reason to murder all those innocents. But you forgave them.”

“We needed each other to fight the dead.”

“Oh, of course. And you didn’t need me anymore, so you figured you may as well get rid of your clingy aunt.”

“It wasn’t like that-“

“You put me down like a mad animal who’d outlived it’s purpose.”

“What would you have me do? You were going to conquer everything and burn anyone who didn’t follow you.”

“You didn’t give me any time to recover!”

“I was afraid of how many would die while I was giving you time to recover.”

“You didn’t even try to comfort me when Missandei and Rhaegal died-“

“I didn’t know what to say. I admit I was wrong and I’m-“

“Rhaegal loved you!” Daenerys stormed, her eyes full of unshed tears that she did not allow to fall, by sheer stubbornness.

“I loved him too!”

“You didn’t even mourn him-“

“Aye, I mourned him! But how could I come to you, his mother, and talk about my own pain?”

“You didn’t mention him-“

“I felt it,” he said, and his voice was low now. 

“You...what?”

“When he died. In the vision. I felt it. I didn’t know what it was. We were riding and I felt this pain. In my neck and...”

He stopped; anguish seized her at his words, and she thought it must show on her face. 

She had felt it too. The connection wasn’t like it was with Drogon, of course, yet there was one and she felt it. But Jon was his rider. Of course he felt it.

She felt swamped again in love for him, for this man who had felt her dragon die, who after all, had loved him and mourned him.

No! No, no, no! If he’s angry he’ll stay here. If he comes with me, if he dies in Essos...her heart stopped at the thought. She’d lost far too many in war in that other life. She wouldn’t lose him.

“I suppose I wasn’t worthy to you, to share this with me,” she said, forcing steel into a voice that wanted to break into a sob.

“I didn’t want to burden you with my grief when you were drowning in your own.”

“So you just left me to it, rather than grieving with me.”

“Dany, I know I made mistakes-“

“Mistakes. You and Tyrion and Varys and Sansa and the whole ungrateful North...all of you were just tripping over yourselves, but it was me and mine who paid for it.”

“Varys paid for his mistakes.”

“Varys didn’t pay for his mistakes. Varys’ mistakes were in failing again and again to supply information to me, costing the Tyrells their lives, costing Missandei and Rhaegal their lives. What Varys paid for, was no mistake. He deliberately betrayed me and tried to have me poisoned. And I saw how you looked at me after. As if you’d have done anything differently if someone did it to you.”

“I didn’t know at the time that he tried to poison you.”

“Every single thing I did, in that life and even now, everything I do, is criticized and judged and measured. When I burned the Tarlys you all thought I was terrible, but what would your honorable Ned Stark have done? To oath breakers who murdered their liege lord? When Tywin Lannister sacked Kings Landing, his men murdered innocents by the thousand. My good sister had to watch her children-your siblings-murdered, and then the man who killed them, raped her with her son’s blood still on his hands. Then he killed her. Robert Baratheon rewarded him. Nobody thought them mad. But I’m expected to do everything without an ounce of bloodshed. I’m expected to show mercy and forgiveness and patience and compassion, but I’m given none of these.”

“I was afraid you would murder my family.”

“Of course. So you murdered me to protect them. I understand. That’s why I didn’t do to you what you did to the people who murdered you. That’s why I worked with you. But it’s also why I can’t trust you in an intimate way. You will always choose them. You will always hurt me to protect them. I can’t be with someone who would betray me. I thought I could. I thought maybe we could...I don’t know. I don’t know what I thought. But you abandoned me just the same.”

“I didn’t abandon you-“

“You did. In that other life I never got to tell you I was with child-“

“I’m sorry. I was angry at you-“

“Angry at me?”

“When I told you about my parents, all you cared about was your claim.”

“It was a danger to me. But I realized I was wrong. That’s why I treated you differently this time, I knew you deserved better than that.”

“Don’t you think if I had a vision I would have changed things?”

Daenerys sighed. She couldn’t soften. If she did, she would be his, and he would eventually break her heart. Or worse, he would join her war and might die in Essos.

“It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Your family, your duty, your honor will always come first. You reject your dragon nature and embrace your wolf nature and you will do the same with your family. You reject me and you embrace them. Even our family words. Fire and Blood. You reject them in favor of your Stark words, even the Tully words. You see ours as destruction.”

“Hard to see Fire and Blood as anything but destructive,” he said, and her anger spiked again.

“Is that a fact? You, who have lived at the Wall and North of it. The First Men who lived there, when they discovered how to light fires, you think it was destructive? To keep warm and cook their food? Fire and Blood are life itself. Without them, there is only death.”

She saw his expression turn thoughtful. “I didn’t think of it that way,” he admitted.

“Of course you didn’t. I opened myself to you completely. I’m hoping desperately that you’ll protect my dragons when I’m gone. While to this day I’ve never met your Direwolf. You’ll never truly choose me, Jon. And one thing above all things I’ve learned in this. I will never again put myself in a place where I’m not freely chosen.”

“I loved you then and I love you now.”

“Yes, but what does that mean? Words are wind. When it comes down to it, I will be pushed aside to protect the things that matter to you.”

“So to be with you I’m supposed to stop caring about my family, my duty, my honor?”

“No, Jon. Your honor, your integrity, your love for your family, your home, your people, was part of why I loved you. All the things that are important to you, make you the man you are. I just stupidly hoped I would become important to you too.”

“Dany-“

“I think this conversation is over. With permission, I’d like to discuss the matter of your parentage with my advisors so we can figure out how best to protect both of us. I think you should do the same.”

He sighed, and he looked so hurt, so angry, so defeated, that she had to fight an urge to embrace him and hold him, an urge so strong it was almost physically painful to resist it.

“You have my permission,” he said. His voice was hollow.

“Thank you.” 

He started to say something else, then turned and left the room.

The moment she was alone, she fell across her bed, weeping in utter heartbreak. His declaration to her, of her being his peace, his home, had cut her to the bone. It was what she wanted, what she had craved. To be home to each other, to be family to each other, to love each other. She loved him, gods help her, she loved him as much as she ever had. She knew it was dangerous. She’d loved him more than anything in that life, more than herself. More than life. He had been her first priority, and she hadn’t been a priority to him at all.

She didn’t think he would blatantly lie, but she knew also that what she’d said was true; she could not find herself investing everything in people who would never choose her, and that included him. 

And how could she trust him, even knowing he may not be lying? He had passionately declared her his queen, kissed her, and slid a blade into her. He was either a very convincing liar, or he’d meant it; that he considered her his queen, and it hadn’t mattered. 

Still, she felt sick with hurt and guilt. The tenderness in those dark, fathomless eyes, as he held her face in his calloused hands.

Right here, he’d said. 

Her heart ached so much it was a physical pain. He had offered her the love she had desperately wanted, and she’d thrown it back at him and intentionally hurt him.

She tried to think about how he’d hurt her, but it did nothing to ease the hurt and guilt. Even his sliding the dagger into her, didn’t allay her anguish.

What is wrong with you? She asked herself.

She decided to try another tack, annoyed that she had to manipulate herself.

She thought of him in Essos. 

Her Unsullied fought together. Her Dothraki fought together. Certainly battle put them at risk. But fighting together lessened that risk. Yes, Jon Snow was formidable. The Night King himself had feared him, refused to fight him. But the danger would be much greater if he were not fighting beside his own men.

And now he would stay here in Westeros. He wouldn’t go to Essos to fight and die in her war. 

This eased the hurt a little. If Jon died fighting her war in Essos, she would never forgive herself. And now he wouldn’t.

At her council, Dany tried to discuss her last wishes as quickly as possible. The subject made her feel heavy and sad, and she could see it made her advisors sad as well. If she could have left her will as it was, she would have, rather than put herself and her friends through this ordeal. But now she held the throne. There was much more to go over. 

She wanted it in writing that the region North of the Wall would be independent in perpetuity. The free folk she’d met had been passionate about their freedom. And it wasn’t just words. 

Like with Sansa Stark, she thought angrily.

This was a people who truly were free and would certainly never demand or even request aid. 

They would never kneel, and nor should they. 

She wanted a Weirwood tree planted in the Godswood, for Bran Stark when he visited, but also for anyone who kept to the Old Gods. With winter making its way ever faster across Westeros, the city might be flooded with people who were looking for work. She wanted people of every religion to feel welcome.

They were building a new Sept, but she didn’t want to have it in the same place. Instead she wanted to have a garden where the Sept had been, something lush and beautiful, as a memorial to the people that had died there.

She had allocated a part of the treasures from Yi Ti to Yara Greyjoy; she explained that this was her intent whether she survived the conflict in Essos or not.

“Your Grace, that is far too generous,” Lady Yara insisted, her eyes wide.

“It’s your due. The gift was presented to me for burning the Silence and it’s fleet. But it was you who executed its captain.”

“Only because you placed him into my hands,” Lady Yara pointed out.

“Indeed, and you’ll note I’ve kept the majority of the gift. Still, by rights, part of it is yours.”

They went over her plans again for irrigation that Sarella and Willas had talked about, and specific areas where the glass gardens would be erected, how they would run pipes underground beneath them to keep them warm in winter. 

She also wanted to go over her thoughts about the orphanages. She’d been horrified to find out what the children’s lives were like, and worse, what happened to them once they must be removed from the orphanage. 

People were returning to Kings Landing from Dragonstone now, though many had sent word that they wished to stay. Daenerys needed do choose a castellan to oversee the island and its inhabitants, but she’d asked Lord Willas to see to this.

The widows and orphans who returned from Dragonstone, would live at the Red Keep under the crown’s protection, until new and proper buildings were erected for them to begin their new lives. Dany mused that she would like for glass gardens to be attached to their new dwellings, so that they could feed themselves and also learn about the growing of food, irrigation and planting, in the event they desired to be farmers themselves, or even tend to the crown’s glass gardens. The Crownlands had never fed itself, and if every kingdom did indeed wish for independence one day, it was best these lands too could manage its own independence.

The rebuilding of Flea Bottom was well underway, and a sewer project had begun as well. Lord Tyrion, for all his annoyance at doing so, was remarkably knowledgeable about the proper building of sewers, having built those of Casterly Rock.

Dany then stated that she wanted the debt to the Iron Bank paid in full. For all of Westeros.  
She could see the objections begin to form on the faces of her advisors, particularly Lady Olenna and Lord Willas, but she went on.

“The debts of all the kingdoms will be paid, and any kingdoms that decide to be independent can pay the crown back, once the realm is prosperous. If I don’t return, I need to know that I’ve left the kingdoms in a position to rebuild, rather than finding themselves crippled by debt. As I’ve said before, I want to leave the world better than I found it. If my reign becomes the shortest in Westerosi history, I can have the peace of knowing I did all in my power to see that I served my people well in that time.”

This seemed to satisfy Lady Olenna and Lord Willas, and they returned to the subject of future projects.

She could not help but get excited as they discussed plans. She had noticed that the pain, which had been a constant companion for moons, had faded and then disappeared, and truly she felt better than she had in a long time. Its sudden absence made her feel light, hopeful. It was dangerous, this hope, but she wanted it, craved it, had not truly noticed how bereft she was of hope until it returned.

She found that she loved the majority of her advisors. As she spoke with them, she could see her own excitement starting to affect them, the sadness fading from their faces as they too started to plan. 

As the discussion for carrying out her will came to a close, Dany took a deep breath.

“I have another matter to discuss,” she said. They looked at her attentively. “About what Sansa Stark said at the feast.” She could feel tension suddenly fill the room. “What she said is true. My brother Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna Stark had a son.”

“A secret annulment would never be valid,” Princess Arianne said immediately. 

“I understand that. We aren’t discussing the validity of my nephew’s claim. He doesn’t want the throne.”

“And he has no claim to it. It’s as I said, Prince Rhaegar’s children-his trueborn children by my aunt-were removed from succession,” Princess Arianne stated. She was getting angry again, Dany could see it on her face.

“Of course,” she said. “But if my detractors wanted a male on the throne badly enough, murdering me would make that irrelevant. He would still be the next in line.”

“You named Lord Willas your heir,” Sarella pointed out. 

“Yes, and Sansa Stark took it upon herself to go to him to tell him my nephew’s identity. She refuses to show discretion and it could be dangerous for him and for me.” 

She went on to tell them about Jon, about Ned Stark keeping him safe. It was truly the best time to tell them, she reasoned. If they turned from her in favor of Jon, she would stay in Essos. She couldn’t bear losing her allies again. The hurt of being rejected by those she had thought her friends and supporters in that other life, still stung her.

“He’s not a legitimate heir,” Princess Arianne said again. “For all the reasons we discussed”.

Daenerys sighed. She didn’t want Jon, after a lifetime of being a bastard, then finding he wasn’t, in a revelation that had cost both of them dearly in in that other life, only to be a bastard again. She couldn’t even say if it would hurt him. But the chance that it would, was enough to make her ache for him.

“A second marriage might be-“

“Forgive me for interrupting, Your Grace, I mean no disrespect to you, but the Faith of the Seven will never support a second marriage,” Sarella Sand told her. “I know you have less fear than should be considered healthy, but you would be wise to exercise caution. If your brother Rhaegar wanted to push this issue with them, he should have gone about it differently. He could have first discussed it with his wife. He should have overthrown your father first, but I realize circumstances may not have allowed that. Whatever he intended, he died before it could be made known, and it certainly won’t add any favor to his reputation. Dorne will never accept a second marriage in principle, because it insults our Princess that Rhaegar attempted to annul his marriage to her. They won’t betray you or fight you, but they will not acknowledge the marriage. The Faith will be angry and sow seeds of dissension. Your reign is new. I would strongly advise that you do not provoke the Faith needlessly.”

“And why would you? To spare Jon Snow’s feelings?” Lady Olenna demanded. “If he doesn’t want the throne, I fail to see why he told Sansa in the first place.”

“He wanted her to know her father never betrayed her mother.”

“That’s sweet. It’s also stupid. His wanting to ease her feelings, your wanting to protect his, may have all the good intention in the world, but my dear, it isn’t practical. Those of us who’ve chosen you, wouldn’t name a new ruler even if Aerys himself and both his sons returned to take the throne. And while much of Westeros is with you, there are still those who need to be convinced, particularly because you’re a woman, and raised outside of Westeros. If you push the issue of Jon being a trueborn son of your brother, two outcomes are possible. Either they are angry with you for coming from another continent and defying our customs, or they readily accept the idea because they would prefer a male born in Westeros and they seek to get you out of the way.”

“A third outcome is someone murdering Jon Snow for the insult to Princess Elia,” added Sarella. At Daenerys’ look, Sarella smiled gently. “I don’t mean I will. I see how it is with the two of you. I would never do something that would hurt you, nor would I want to see you hurt. That’s why I’m warning you of this. I can’t make promises for Dorne.”

“Why should Jon be harmed for something his father did?” Daenerys demanded, rage and fear twisting her stomach into a knot. 

“He shouldn’t. But why should you be scorned for things your father did? How many people here have looked at you and saw only the Mad King’s daughter? Why should Ellaria have murdered Princess Myrcella Baratheon? When people feel wronged, they want to strike back. It’s not always rational and it’s certainly not fair.”

Daenerys nodded, trying not to wring her hands. 

“If the plan you and he now have, is to make his parentage known,” Lord Tyrion began cautiously, “the best thing you could do is leave out the annulment and marriage all together. And then you could legitimize him.”

Daenerys looked at him sharply. She could, she realized, if Jon would allow it. She nodded gratefully. “I’ll speak to him.” Then she frowned. She was not at all sure he would be receptive to a conversation with her after their argument. And even if he was, it could lessen his anger at her and prompt him to continue his plan to join her in Essos. “Or maybe you could tell him. See how he feels about the idea.”

Lord Tyrion looked at her, surprised. “Me?”

“You’re good at talking. And it was your idea.” She turned her gaze to the other faces in the room. “I thank you all for your counsel, and for discussing these matter with me. If there’s nothing else-“

“Your Grace, I did have something I wanted to tell you,” Lord Tyrion said. He looked nervous, and Dany frowned.

“What is it?”

“Do you have any plans for Harrenhal?”

“I didn’t. Was that the land you wanted?”

“The...land I wanted?”

“For your vineyard. Harrenhal has vast holdings and fertile land, but the castle itself needs much repair. But if that’s what you want-“

“It isn’t, Your Grace. I promised it to a...a friend of mine.”

She stared at him. “You promised Harrenhal to a friend of yours?”

“He’s a sellsword, his name is Bronn. He saved my life on numerous occasions. My sister sent him to kill my brother and me at Winterfell, and he gave me the opportunity to make him a counter offer...so I offered him Harrenhal.”

Daenerys sighed. “Going forward, Lord Tyrion, do not offer land to anyone without discussing it with me... or with Lord Willas, if I don’t return. But I’ll grant your friend Harrenhal, unless Lord Edmure Tully has other ideas for it. If he’s saved your life, he’s done me a service.”

“Lord Tully?”

“He’s Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.”

“Of course. I will discuss it with him. Thank you, Your Grace.”

Daenerys glanced around the room to see if anyone else had thoughts they wished to discuss.

“Before you leave, I think we should have another feast,” Lady Olenna told her. “Sansa Stark ruined the last one. Surely you’ll want to have your coronation before you leave. I’m surprised you haven’t done it already.”

Daenerys nodded. “We could have another feast,” she agreed. She knew the coronation should happen as well. She’d been a queen for years now, a Khaleesi even longer. She’d never had a coronation, never worn a crown.

Her crown had been the braids she wore for the victories she’d won, its jewels, the love of her people. 

But of course Westeros would require she have a coronation. She would have to think on that later, she had far too much to do.

“If there are no other concerns, I have some work I must do.” She stood, and her advisors stood with her. 

She walked out of the room, flanked by guards. 

********************************

Tyrion was drinking again. He’d gotten word that Varys wished to see him, and so he sat, wine in hand, waiting. The Small Hall of the Red Keep was quiet. Daenerys had added a few bottles of wine, along with some jugs of ale, to the large cabinet there, so that the people who served her at the Keep could drink and talk in the evenings. But nobody was here now, and Tyrion was alone. 

The quiet ended abruptly; Jon Snow stormed into the hall, took a jug of ale from the cabinet and sat down heavily. Tyrion flinched as Jon slammed down the jug, his goblet, himself.

“Are you all right, Your Grace?”

“She’s never going to trust me. She says she forgave me, but she’ll never truly forgive me. She doesn’t believe me, my word is nothing to her. And she’s right. That’s the worst of it. She’s right, and I can’t show her she’s wrong this time. That I’ll never...” he broke off, drinking the ale.

Tyrion stared at him, confounded. “I’m assuming you’re speaking of the queen.”

“Aye. The queen.” 

Tyrion remembered the night of the feast at Winterfell, finding Daenerys crying outside, as if her heart was broken; and he remembered Jon talking to him as she’d lain in bed, barely conscious from poison, about how he’d ended their relationship because of their shared blood. 

“You broke things off with her because of your relation.”

“Like a fool.”

“And you’ve...changed your mind?”

“I realized what an ass I was. But now she thinks I’ll turn on her for my family.”

“Because of Sansa?”

Jon sighed, drinking more ale. “Because...because of Sansa in part. And because of something that happened in a vision.”

Tyrion frowned. “She told you about her vision?”

“She did. Part of it. And then Bran told me the rest. Once he did, I dreamed parts of it.”

“And I suppose you broke things off with her in the vision, too.”

“I murdered her.”

Tyrion almost dropped his goblet. “You murdered her?” 

“I did. And now she thinks she can’t trust me.”

Tyrion was stunned for a moment, and he drank deeply. Daenerys had said she was killed in that vision; that she became everything she’d fought against, and then she was betrayed and murdered. But Tyrion never thought for a moment it was Jon who killed her. 

“Why?” He finally asked.

Jon shook his head. “We all destroyed her. We expected too much from her. We wanted her to win a bloodless war. We betrayed her and ignored her pain and all the losses were hers. We protected our own and left hers to die. And...they died. She just shattered. She wasn’t her anymore.”

“She didn’t tell me any details, but she said she became everything she’d fought against,” Tyrion said.

Jon laughed bitterly. “Aye, that’s how she sees it, I imagine.”

“It’s not true?”

“Not quite. The things she fought against were evil. She wasn’t evil, she was broken. And instead of trying to help her heal, I panicked. I was so afraid. I have never done anything so craven in my life, as what I did to her. Out of fear. Fear won out over love, over courage and honor and gratitude and compassion and mercy. All those things we demanded of her, we denied her. We butchered her out of fear and cowardice. And we called it duty.”

“We?”

“Me most of all. But you too. And Varys and Sansa. Even Arya wouldn’t take a moment to know her. And instead of telling her or anyone else what Dany did for me, I let everyone think I bent the knee to save the North. But she promised to help before I bent the knee.”

“What exactly did Daenerys do that made you kill her?”

Jon sighed again. “If you want to hear of her sins, you’ll have to ask her. I’m just telling you about mine. And yours because it was you. And Sansa went ahead and did them again, so it’s not as if I’m telling tales. But Daenerys was killed for what she did, and the rest of us...just got to live our lives as if we weren’t filthy snakes with no honor-“

“All right, I can see you’re angry. What did I do?”

“You cost her. Everything. She trusted you, sometimes against her own judgment, and your plans brought her nothing but ruin. And we just expected her to...I don’t even know. I don’t know what the fuck we expected of her. You betrayed her for Sansa. You told me to murder her.”

“I told you to murder Sansa?”

“Dany. You said she killed hundreds of Meereenese nobles but you left out why. You said she murdered the khals, but you left out why. You said she liberated Slavers Bay, but you put it in a way that made it sound like she’d burned it and conquered it. But...she really did liberate it. You said everywhere she goes, evil men die, and we cheer her for it.”

“Well...that’s true.”

“It’s true of my sister Arya, too. You made it sound like Dany was only ever after power, but the truth is that she left her cities in Essos to be ruled by a leader chosen by the people. You manipulated me to make me murder her. And I just fell into it. A Northern fool. Worse. A coward.”

Tyrion was staring at Jon in horror. “Why? I love her. I must have loved her in that life, too.”

“You said you did. I loved her too.”

“Then why...”

“Our love, yours and mine, is a cheap and breakable thing. Not worth the wind it takes to express it.” Jon’s voice held immeasurable bitterness. “We both abandoned and betrayed her before she’d done anything wrong. And then when she finally did something wrong, we murdered her. Well, I murdered her. You told me to kill her.”

Tyrion emptied his goblet and refilled it. “And she had a vision of this. Moons ago.”

“Aye. She did.”

“If she knew that I betrayed her and you murdered her, why did she go North? Or keep me on as her Hand? Or lay with you?” 

“Because her love is not cheap or breakable. Because her loyalty isn’t a brittle thing, built on a coincidence of birth we call family. Because the only duty she knows is love, and she loves with her entire being.”

Tyrion studied him. “I wasn’t there...I mean, I suppose I was, but I don’t remember it. But I know things are rarely so simple. So black and white. You’re making it sound as if she was a pure and gentle heroine, and the rest of us brutal duplicitous monsters. But life isn’t like that.”

“Maybe not. We were all so caught up in our own shit.”

“Your Grace-“

“Stop with the ‘Your Grace’ horseshit, Tyrion. We’re alone, there’s no need for it.”

“All right. Jon. You are the furthest thing from a coward I’ve ever known. And easily one of the best men I’ve had the honor to meet. Obviously things went terribly wrong in that vision. But she can’t hold it against you. It was another life. It’s not as if you’ve done these things now. Our queen may have a temper, but she’s just. She wouldn’t-“

“She doesn’t hold it against me in the sense that she wants revenge. If she was the monster you and Varys and Sansa made her out to be, she’d have woken from that vision and burned every one of us. She forgives us in the sense that...you’re still her Hand. She gave me Torrhen Stark’s crown. But she’ll never trust me. She’ll never forgive me.”

“She speaks quite highly of you. In fact, there’s something-“

“She won’t marry me,” Jon said dismally.

“Have you asked her?”

“Aye, I asked her. She said no. She doesn’t believe I’ll ever put my loyalty to her before my loyalty to my family.”

“That’s not a fair choice.”

“Sansa has made a choice out of it, not Dany.”

“Speaking of which...We discussed your parentage at today’s council.”

“Because of Sansa.”

Tyrion sighed. He could see plainly that Jon was far too caught up in his love for Daenerys and his anger at himself, Tyrion, and Sansa, to be reasonable at the moment. But he was correct in his assessment. 

“Yes. As I imagine Lord Willas told you-“

“Aye, he told me.” He swallowed more ale. “She’ll just keep telling people.”

“She’s afraid, Jon. I don’t think you realize what she went through here.”

Jon looked at him with his dark eyes. “I know she went through an ordeal, Lord Tyrion.”

“If I’m not calling you ‘Your Grace’, I think we can dispense with the ‘Lord’,” Tyrion said. “And you may know she went through an ordeal, but you may not realize what it’s putting her through. The effect it’s having on her.”

“Would you say that, if someone murdered Dany because of it? Or me? What if Dorne murdered me, and the North blamed Dany? Or some lazy southerner decided a cock was more qualifying than anything she or I have ever done, and had Dany assassinated? What if Dany executed Sansa for putting her in danger? Any of those could have caused a war. That’s thousands of lives.”

“I don’t think she-“

“And the worst of it? It’s because she’s scared, she’s hurt, she can’t trust anyone...then she told Lord Willas.”

“Lord Willas is quite obviously in love with Daenerys.”

“Aye, and her chosen heir to the throne. The man had every political reason to have me assassinated.”

“You don’t think Lord Willas would-“

“I’m not saying he would, Tyrion.”

“You’re saying...Sansa believed he’s too honorable to do it.”

“Aye. She trusts him. I’m not saying anything to question the man’s honor. I’m wondering why Sansa doesn’t question it, since she denies Dany’s.”

“She...likes him. He probably reminds her a little of Margaery. He’s not as pretty, obviously. But there’s something similar about their smile. That whole family has the same curly brown hair. Margaery was very kind to Sansa when they were here.”

Jon looked at him. “Sansa almost caused a war. If those Essosi assassins had been successful, we’d have never known who tried to kill Dany. You didn’t warn her about the passageways, even after what Sansa did. You’re here defending Sansa yet you convinced me to murder Daenerys.”

“I don’t know what Daenerys did in the vision, so you have me at a disadvantage.”

“Why didn’t you warn anyone about the passageways?”

“I didn’t think anyone would try to harm her. I had forgotten about them. It was a mistake, and I truly regret it.”

“Are you ever going to start being an effective Hand?” Jon demanded. 

Tyrion drank deeply. “I hope so.”

Varys entered the hall, his pale robe fluttering behind him, and Tyrion raised his goblet in welcome.  
Jon glared at him.  
Varys sat down at the table, nodding at both of them. “I have very distressing information,” he said. Both men looked at him expectantly. “The slavers in Essos have retaken Astapor. They intend to take Yunkai next and then-“

“Bran told us this already,” Jon snapped.

“They’ve hired assassins-“ Varys continued.

“If only you’d told us this two days ago,” Jon cut him off.

“King Jon is not in the friendliest mood today, but I must agree, this would have been far more helpful before the assassination attempt,” Tyrion added.

“Attempt,” Varys repeated, and he was either relieved or was pretending very well. “She’s alive.”

“Yes. And I might have been saved from looking like a fool for not mentioning the passageways.”

Varys frowned. “You didn’t warn them about the passageways?”

Jon was laughing, a bitter mirthless laugh, watching them. 

Outside, they could hear soldiers moving quickly through the hallway. Jon turned and left the room, and Tyrion followed him. 

A few men were standing in the hallway in front of the guards, and Tyrion thought they looked familiar, then saw Daario Naharis standing at their center, looking nonchalantly at the men in front of him.

Tyrion stepped forward. “Captain Naharis, welcome,” he said, making introductions between Daario’s men and the guards.

“Where are the Unsullied and Dothraki?” Daario asked, his eyes scanning the Westerosi knights.

“They’re preparing,” Tyrion said, “to go back to Essos with you for the coming battle.”

“Where’s the Queen?” 

“I’ll let her know you’re here,” Tyrion said, then motioned toward Jon. “This is Jon Snow. He’s the King in the North.” His arm extended to Varys. “You remember Varys.”

Daario was studying Jon quite openly, and Jon was measuring Daario with his own gaze.

“I’ll hurry,” Tyrion said. He walked toward Daenerys’ study. He remembered how it had been his own study for a time. It had been his father’s study. His sister’s study. 

He knocked on the door, and then entered. 

Daenerys was reading some old letter, her eyes fixed in an expression of horror, and almost of grief. Her eyes shot to him as he entered, and she crumpled the letter and tossed it into the fireplace. 

“What was that?”

“A letter I found. What brings you here?”

“Well...Daario Naharis has arrived. He wants to see you.”

She nodded and left the room, walking down the hallway, followed by her guards. “Thank you,” she said.

“Of course,” Tyrion said, walking beside her. “What was in the letter?”

“It doesn’t matter. It was written long ago by and to people who’ve since died.”

“Then why did you burn it?”

“It was potentially harmful.”

“To whom?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she repeated. “I burned it.”

“Your Grace? In your vision...what did you do?”

She glanced at him. “Why?”

“Jon Snow said he murdered you. He’s quite beside himself. He is spinning a tale in which you were an innocent and sacrificing heroine and the rest of us were vipers.”

Daenerys laughed, the same bitter mirthless laugh as Jon. “Hardly,” she said. “At least not at the end. And I made mistakes throughout.”

“Why did he murder you?”

She sighed. “I burned Kings Landing.”

“You burned it? What of the people?”

“I burned them too. Jon didn’t tell you?”

“No,” Tyrion said, and his heart was hammering. “Why did you...”

“Surely we can discuss this later,” she said. 

Tyrion followed her into the great hall where apparently Jon had invited Daario. Lord Willas and Ser Jorah had joined them, and the four men were quietly assessing each other. 

Daario saw her, and his expression of cocky amusement disappeared as he noticed the bruises on her. He rushed to her, catching her shoulders. 

“What happened?” He asked.

“An assassination attempt. I’m fine.” She carefully extricated his hands from her shoulders. 

“Where are they?” He demanded.

“Dead.”

“Good. I came here because-“

“I know why you’re here,” Daenerys said. “Have some food and rest, we’ll have a war council in the morning.”

“I didn’t come all the way here for food and rest.”

“Be that as it may, it was a long voyage and I’d prefer we are all refreshed when we plan the coming war.”

Daario studied her. “So you finally got the throne you wanted.”

“Yes,” she said, a faint smile flitting over her lips.

“Well? Did it bring you happiness?”

“More...satisfaction.”

“Satisfaction? I find that difficult to believe. Surely there are more kingdoms to conquer?”

She sighed deeply. “As good as it is to see you, Captain Naharis, I have work and you need rest. I thank you for all you’ve been doing to keep the peace in Meereen.”

“Oh, it’s Captain Naharis now, is it?” She didn’t respond, so he bowed in an over exaggerated manner. “A pleasure, Your Grace,” he said. 

“Qhono will show you to your rooms, and any men you’ve brought to theirs.” She turned to her Dothraki commander and spoke to him in his language. Daario followed the man, glancing back at Daenerys. 

“Your Grace,” Varys said, approaching her. “I’m glad to see you’re well. I realize you don’t wish me to be on your council, and I understand why. But I’ve been attempting to communicate with you for the last few days. Your guards at the Keep do not allow me to enter, I had to send a message to Lord Tyrion, and it appears it was too late. The results could have been tragic. I’m begging you to allow me to serve you. Even if I’m not on your council, I might still be of service.” 

Daenerys nodded reluctantly. “All right. But if you attempt to undermine me or intercept my messages again, I’ll have no choice but to exile you from the city.”

She turned then and walked out of the Small Hall.

“I suppose exile is better than execution,” Varys said to Tyrion, smiling in his unctuous manner.

Jon stood, moving toward Varys. “If you harm her...ever...I will tear you to pieces with my own hands.”

He stormed out of the Small Hall.

Varys watched him, then turned back to Tyrion. “Is he well?”

Tyrion sighed, sat back down, and resumed drinking. “He’s a man in love. Of course he’s not well.”

“I’m thinking now of what Ser Davos suggested back at Winterfell. If they’re in love, they could marry and unite the realm,” Varys said.

Tyrion sighed. “They’ve got a lot to figure out before they’ll be making vows of love,” Tyrion said wearily. 

Ser Jorah and Lord Willas chose that moment to leave the hall, and Tyrion could not stop a cynical chuckle.

“Lord Willas would be a good match for her as well,” Varys observed once they’d left.

“I would not advise attempting to counsel the queen on the subject of marriage at this time,” Tyrion warned.

Varys frowned. “Well, I’ll be leaving. I’ll return if I have further information.”

“Thank you, Varys.” Varys nodded, then he too left the hall

Tyrion was alone again, drinking and musing.

He heard steps behind him, softer this time, and he turned to see Sansa approaching him.

“Lord Tyrion,” she greeted. 

“Lady Sansa. How are you feeling?”

She sat down and poured herself some wine. “Everyone is angry at me,” she said, drinking.

“Well, it’s a road I’ve certainly traveled. The best thing is to keep your head down and try your best.”

She laughed, and Tyrion wondered when the sound of every laugh had turned bitter.

“I’ve been trying my best to protect my home and my family,” she said.

Tyrion let that rest. He imagined that plenty of people were pointing out to her that her ‘protection’ could have caused a war. 

“Have you decided which of the options you’re going to choose?”

“Options?”

“Septas, Silent Sisters, orphans and widows of war-“

“I haven’t decided,” she said. She drank more wine, and Tyrion frowned.

“Are you sure you should be-“

“The queen is leaving in a few days.”

“Yes,” he sighed. “Off to fight another war.”

“She will give you land.”

“She said she would.”

“Where will you settle?”

“Well, this was in her will. If she doesn’t return and her heir chooses a new Hand. I’m rather hoping she does return.”

“But it’s not likely,” Sansa said, and Tyrion winced.

“She’s stronger than she looks.”

“But not as strong as she seems.” Sansa rested her hand lightly on Tyrion’s, and she smiled at him suddenly. His heart started pounding. “I know you admire her. But you should be thinking of your future.”

“I’m...thinking of all our future,” he said carefully.

“I’ve been thinking of mine, too. We always got on well, didn’t we?”

Tyrion flushed. “I suppose we did.”

“I remember when we were married. You said you could be good to me.”

Tyrion stared at her, at her shimmering blue eyes and porcelain features. He could not be understanding her correctly. 

“I did say that,” he said.

“What if you chose some land in the North?”

“The Queen can only grant land outside the Northern Kingdom, unless they choose to unite with the other six kingdoms.”

“I’m sure Jon would give you whatever land you wish.”

“I couldn’t be sure of that, my lady. Jon is not happy with me right now.”

“Of course he will. We could marry again. And he’ll give you land as a gift, I’m sure of it. And then if the queen does return, I could mind it for you, and you could stay here in Kings Landing.”

Tyrion stared at her for a moment, and then his heart cracked in realization. “And you would be a Lady again. Without serving your punishment or earning back your title.”

She pulled her hand back as if he’d burned it. “That’s not why I...” she broke off, but the ice in her voice, in her eyes, confirmed Tyrion’s suspicions, and he felt strangely empty.

He emptied his goblet, then filled it again.  
“Lady Sansa...I understand you’re upset. I know how lost you feel right now.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“Maybe not the same way, but I’ve been lost. But...truly, I’m loyal to my queen. I’ve made mistakes. A lot of mistakes. And she’s stood by me. It was only her, out of all of them, to whom I actually bent the knee.”

“And she wouldn’t allow me to marry her precious Hand,” Sansa snapped.

“I suspect she would allow me to marry whoever I wish. But you’ll never call her queen. You know you won’t. And my allegiance is to her. If you loved me, and truly wished to marry me, we could figure something out, as difficult as it might be. But you don’t. You know you don’t.”

Sansa drank her wine. “You love her.”

“I do. Not in the way you’re implying. But she’s a good ruler. I believe in her. And she chose me as her Hand, because she believed in me. I failed her in every way, but she kept me on, hoping against hope that I would reward her belief in me. I need to earn her good opinion back. Lady Sansa...if she were like Cersei, she’d have had you executed or sent to the Silent Sisters. Cersei would certainly not give you the opportunity to earn your title back.”

Sansa shook her head, but didn’t say another word. She finished her wine and walked out.

Tyrion sat at the table, his thoughts meandering down a dark path.

Meera Reed entered the Small Hall with Bran Stark, and Tyrion nodded at them in greeting. 

“Would either of you like some wine?” He offered.

“Thank you, no,” Meera said. 

Bran shook his head. He was watching Tyrion with those dark eyes that saw everything and showed nothing. 

“Are you all right, Lord Tyrion?” He asked. 

“It’s been an...an interesting day. But I suppose I don’t have to tell you that.”

“Jon told you about Daenerys’ vision. And Varys told you information we already have.”

“Yes. He asked Daenerys to allow him entry to the Keep so that he can try to get information to her in a more timely fashion. I’m sure he can’t possibly provide more information than you can.”

“Perhaps not. But I too failed to warn her before the assassination attempt. I can see everything, but he knows where to look. We may work well together.”

Tyrion nodded. “That’s true.”

“She doesn’t trust him,” Bran added.

“She’s angry about his intercepting the ravens. And about keeping silent when I wrote to Jaime. But...Jon said you know about her vision.”

“Yes.”

“Jon threatened Varys. Did he...do something to her? In the vision?”

“When he found out about Jon’s parentage he started writing letters to tell the lords of Westeros. He tried to convince Jon to take the throne from her. And he had a girl named Martha poison her food and drink.”

Tyrion was struck with horror. There could be no surprise then that Daenerys didn’t trust him. And he’d already tried to have her poisoned years before, when she was carrying Khal Drogo’s babe.

“Daenerys told him this information and he-“

“In the vision, Daenerys didn’t tell him. She asked Jon to keep it a secret because of the danger. He had me tell Sansa and Arya. Sansa told you and you told Varys.”

“Seven hells. It’s a wonder she didn’t wake from the vision and burn us all alive.”

“She didn’t want to punish anyone for things you hadn’t actually done.”

“She told me she burned Kings Landing. Burned innocent people.”

“Yes.”

Tyrion shuddered, drinking. “I can’t imagine her doing a thing like that.”

“I don’t think she’ll do it now, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I hope not. I just told Sansa my allegiance is to Daenerys. If she now burns innocents-“

“She’s made changes.”

“But it’s in her. In her to do a thing like that.”

“I’d say it’s in most people to do it. What makes her unique, is that if she reaches that point, she has dragons and can actually do it.”

“I can’t imagine it. What must have been going on in her mind to...”

“Of course you can.”

“I can’t, really.”

“I saved you,” Bran said softly. “I saved this city and all your worthless lives.” Tyrion felt an icy chill fall over him. Bran continued. “I wish I was the monster you think I am. I wish I had enough poison for the whole pack of you. I would gladly give my life to watch you all swallow it.”

Tyrion shuddered, drinking deeply from his goblet. 

“I suppose she may have been thinking something like that,” Tyrion finally said. 

“Imagine if you’d had dragons that day.”

Tyrion nodded. “That would have been tragic.”

“Yes.”

“Jon said I convinced him to murder her.”

“You did.”

Tyrion shook his head. “Jon is quite angry at me.”

“Jon is mostly angry at himself.”

Tyrion ached for Jon now. The man clearly loved Daenerys, and the horrors of that other life had ruined them, ruined their chances to be happy together. 

Tyrion thought again of Daenerys. She had forgiven them, certainly. And what he’d told Sansa was true, Daenerys would allow him to marry anyone, unlike his father who threatened to hang any whore Tyrion brought to court. She would give him land. She’d kept him as Hand. 

A thought suddenly crossed Tyrion’s mind, a sudden storm of hope and dread bubbling in his chest. 

“Bran...could you find a person for me?”

“Yes. Who is it?”

“Her name is Tysha.”


	31. Chapter Thirty One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all had a Happy Thanksgiving if you celebrate it, and a great weekend so far if not!   
This chapter, Dany talks to Tyrion and Daario, Jon tells the North about his parentage.   
I’m going to aim to have another chapter tomorrow or the next day, but it might be short!   
Thank you all so much for reading my story and your comments and kudos.

Chapter Thirty One

“It’s...not an attractive chair, is it? And it certainly doesn’t look comfortable.”

Daenerys stood in the throne room with Daario, watching as he walked around the Iron Throne, assessing it.

“My ancestor Aegon the Conqueror said that a ruler shouldn’t sit comfortably. Legends say that he would sharpen the edges,” she told him. 

Daario turned to her. “So this is it. The goal of all your fighting and yearning.”

She nodded. “This is it,” she agreed. 

He walked toward her, and she stood with her hands folded neatly in front of her. 

“I’ve missed you,” he said. 

She sighed. “Likewise, Captain Naharis.”

“Is there a reason you keep calling me that? I’ve been inside you.”

She flushed. “Let’s go speak somewhere more private, shall we?”

He grinned cheekily. “Private sounds good.”

She glanced at him warningly, then started walking toward her study. Once they were inside, she poured them both some wine and sat down. 

“If you’re planning to make a show of our past affair, I need to know this now,” she said. “I’ve explained to you, that much of Westeros is puritanical and quite judgmental with regard to the habits of women, particularly highborn women. I realize you came here with the goal of securing military support, and I deeply appreciate your loyalty, and all you’ve done to maintain the future and well being of Meereen and the Bay of Dragons. But it appears you have a secondary goal, which is to embarrass me before the lords of Westeros.”

“Daenerys, you told me you were going to make alliances through marriage. That was why you left me behind, but I don’t see any husband here. I know you. I know you must be lonely. Especially now. You’ve gotten what you wanted, and you say you’re satisfied. But I don’t think you are. I think there’s more you want.”

She winced. “Perhaps. But what I don’t want is my friends and allies to be revealing scandalous information about-“

“Scandalous,” Daario repeated, laughing.

“I’m serious, Daario.” 

“So you do remember my first name.” 

“Yes. I remember your first name. I remember our...relationship. And I will always remember it, and I’ll always be fond of you. But we cannot be lovers. That part of the relationship is over. I’m sorry.”

“Who were you thinking of marrying?”

“I’m not thinking of-“

“If you want my opinion-“

“I don’t.”

“-the best choices would be the Lord of Highgarden or the King in the North.”

She stared at him. “Why them?”

“Aside from the fact that they’re both in love with you? Highgarden, if my information is correct, is the wealthiest keep in Westeros, and the Tyrell family is very powerful. The North isn’t wealthy by any stretch, but it’s the largest of the kingdoms, almost as large as the other six combined. It’s the only kingdom you haven’t conquered, and if you marry their king, you unite the kingdoms.”

“If I marry their king, they’ll crown a new king. They want to be independent.”

“Independent? They’re a frozen wasteland and it’s winter. Do they enjoy starving?”

“You’ve been learning about Westeros,” she observed.

“I was hoping you’d eventually see the error of leaving me behind. I wanted to be useful when the time came.”

“Then you know very well that it could be damaging to me, for you to behave in such a familiar manner,” she said, her voice turning to ice.

He sighed. “I missed you,” he repeated. “And now I’m here, and I’m going to confess, I’m angry.”

“Angry?”

“I can’t even describe the rage when I saw you with a bruise on your face. And more on your throat. The bastard came close to killing you. Your guards must have gotten there just in time. This would not have happened if I was here.”

“The assassins got in through a secret entrance. My guards were outside the door. The assassins blocked the door before attacking me. It wasn’t my guards’ fault.”

“Assassins. More than one?”

“There were three,” she said, shuddering in memory. “My guards broke the door down and got in, but it was Arya Stark who killed the third assassin. She had found out about the passageways and was looking at ways to block off the entrances, when she heard the struggle in my chambers.”

“What happened to the first two?”

“I killed them myself.”

Daario leaned back in his chair now, studying her. “How?”

“How?”

“How did you kill them?”

“The first one with my sword, the second one by gouging out his eyes and then hitting him in his nose so that the bones lodged into his brain.” She realized her goblet was empty, and poured more wine. 

Daario was grinning at her again. “You have a sword?”

“I do.” Now she grinned. “It’s beautiful.” 

“And you know how to use it?”

“I’m learning. I started training shortly after arriving at Dragonstone.”

“I’d pay good coin to see that.”

She sighed. “Arya Stark said she’d train with me. But I had a bitter argument with her brother, so she may rescind that offer.”

“I’ll train with you. But why not Ser Jorah? Or the Dothraki or Unsullied?” 

“They were training with me. That’s how I learned as much as I did. But now they’re too gentle with me. They don’t come at me as they did before. I appreciate their doing it at all, but I need them to be as tough with me as they always have.”

Daario frowned. “They’re more afraid of hurting you now than before?”

She drank from her goblet, deciding to change the subject. Daario didn’t know about the poison, about the internal damage. The pain medicine Qyburn had given her, prevented her from doubling over in agony at any significant strain. If Daario was willing to train with her, she could get some true practice, and that wouldn’t happen if he started treating her as if she were made of glass.

“Maybe because I have the throne now,” she said, with a noncommittal shrug. “An accident could be viewed much more harshly. In any event, I require you to stop being so familiar with me in front of people.”

“What about when we’re alone?”

“You can speak freely when we’re alone, but I must state again that we cannot be lovers.”

“You’re afraid to be caught.”

“There’s someone else,” she said. 

“Someone else.” Anger crossed his features, then sadness. “I might have known. So when you said you couldn’t bring a lover to Westeros, it wasn’t any fear of endangering a marriage alliance, you were just ready to move on.”

“It wasn’t planned. It just happened. And anyway it’s over now-“

“If it’s over, what’s the problem?”

“I love him.”

“Then why is it over?”

Daenerys took a deep breath, pushing the irritation out of her mind before it could color her voice. “It’s a...complicated situation.”

“Does he love you?”

“Yes. No. He does, but...”

“But he’s a fool.”

“We’re both fools. And I can’t afford the luxury of being a fool. I need you to be honest with me, Daario. If this is going to compromise your loyalty or cause you to-“

“Daenerys, I love you. I’ve never known anyone like you. I’m not happy about the situation, but I’m not going to betray you or try to make your life harder. Maybe one day you’ll decide you want to be with someone who loves you. Who admires everything you are. But for now, if you’d prefer pining over some Westerosi numbskull who can’t appreciate-“

“He’s not a numbskull,” she said defensively.

Daario held up his hands, in laughing surrender. “If you say so. But if you love the man and he’s anything other than completely awed and in love with you, then yes, he’s a numbskull. That’s my opinion, and you can’t bully me out of it, even if you are the Mother of Dragons and conqueror of the known world.”

“I’m not conqueror of the known world.”

“Yet.”

***

Daenerys found herself once again surrounded by maps and plans. She missed her painted table back at Dragonstone. Here there was instead, a huge map on the floor, but then to move any pieces around she had to get down on the floor. The map table was much more efficient, in her opinion, and she wondered how much it would cost to commission one. Not that it would help her in this particular war.   
She heard a knock at the door and snapped, “come in,” without looking up.

Yara Greyjoy swaggered in, grinning at her. “Your Grace,” she greeted. 

Dany smiled in greeting. “I only have wine,” she warned, remembering Yara’s preference for ale.

“I’ll make do,” she said, sitting down and pouring herself some. “The word is you were looking into sell sails.”

Dany sighed. “Unfortunately, that turned out to be untenable. In the time it would take for them to get here to bring my allies on board and then sail back, thousands could die. Daario only brought one ship, and I have very few of my own.”

Yara lifted her boots up onto the desk, resting them there.

“If only you happened to know the captain of the Iron Fleet, who also happens to be your Master of Ships, who is also completely devoted to you and your pretty little worried face,” Yara said. 

Dany frowned. “I can’t just drag you into a foreign war.”

Yara laughed then. “You realize we are no longer in the allegiance phase of our relationship. I’ve sworn fealty to you for the duration of winter. You’re the queen. You actually can drag us into a foreign war.”

“You’re all free people. I will not command you to fight a war on another continent.”

“Fine. Don’t command. But you know that the armies are waiting for a command from you.”

“I’ve already spoken with the Unsullied and the Dothraki, and they-“

“I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about the Westerosi lords. They know you’re going to war. I appreciate that you care so much about your people being free to choose whether to follow you into battle. Especially a battle on another continent. I see your point, and it’s valid. But they’re your armies now. You could at least offer them the option.”

“The option? To leave their home when they finally have peace, after years of unremitting war? They could be planting, rebuilding, spending time with their families. I sincerely doubt they’ll wish to leave that to fight yet another war, particularly a foreign war.”

“I’d say you’re right about most of them. But for many of them, all they know is war. It’s been going on so long that they barely remember anything else.”

“And I think they should have the opportunity to heal from that.”

“Sure. But what about those who feel lost now? It’s what they know, what they’re good at.”

“I want them to have a chance to see they can be good at other things, that won’t involve them killing or dying.”

“Offer them a choice, then. Offer to reward them. Most of them will refuse, but many of them will not. And stop worrying about the ships. For fuck sake. My ships are yours.”

Daenerys looked at her gratefully. “Thank you.”

Yara nodded and poured herself a second goblet of wine. She sipped it, then started laughing again. “I just thought of something.”

“What?”

“I’d love to see Lord Tarly’s face when he gets back here.”

“Lord Tarly?”

“You know he hates the Citadel, right?”

“I didn’t.” Daenerys drank some of her own wine. “I didn’t command him to go to the Citadel.”

“I know. I was there. He volunteered quite eagerly. Because he figured the Citadel wouldn’t want to hand over those writings, and no one in the world is as good as Randyll Tarly, at bullying people into doing things they don’t want to do. If the writings can save you, he’ll attack the Citadel to get them. He’ll burn the place to the ground if he has to.”

Daenerys stared at her. “I don’t want him to do that,” she said. 

“Of course you don’t. Stop looking so distressed, Daenerys, it won’t come to that. Nobody wants to get into a battle with Randyll fucking Tarly, least of all the Citadel. But I do wish I could see his face when he gets back here after a family road trip to fetch writings from the Citadel, only to find out you brought Westerosi armies to war while he was away.” 

“I doubt he’d want to fight a foreign war.”

“He wouldn’t see it as a foreign war now. You’re his queen. It’s your war. And that makes it our war. And Randyll Tarly loves war. He’s going to be so annoyed when he gets back here.” She laughed again, drinking her wine.

Daenerys frowned. “If I may speak plainly, it’s a little mean that you’re finding this so funny.”

Yara laughed harder at that. “Yeah, it’s a little mean. I’m a little mean. He won’t be devastated over it, he’ll be happy that he was able to retrieve the writings. But he’s going to be bitterly disappointed that he didn’t get the chance to fight for you.”

“He’s already fought for me.”

“Not really. There was the battle of Winterfell but that was for humanity. The Kings Landing attack wasn’t a battle.”

Daenerys sighed. “I can’t wait for them to return. There’s not enough time.”

“I know. I’m not trying to convince you. If I were going to try to get you to stay, it would be to have whatever procedure it is Qyburn devised before diving into another war. I honestly don’t understand how you’re even alive, if you’ve always been this disregarding of your own safety.”

“I haven’t. But this is an opportunity I can’t afford to throw away. The Iron Bank will intercede if we win this. And then...”

“And then the entire slave trade will collapse. I understand. I know this is important to you. That’s why I’m not trying to wheedle you into delaying the war, even though I think you should wait.”

“I appreciate it. And I appreciate your joining me in this.”

Yara grinned. “How could I not? We warrior queens are a rare breed. We need to stick together.”

***

Dany ate a midday meal of roast chicken and greens. She missed the spices of Essos. She had mead to drink. She’d mentioned to Lord Willas how she loved the honeyed wine she’d drank when she’d been with the Dothraki, and he’d wasted no time in procuring the mead.

She drank more mead even after she had finished her meal, enjoying the sweetness of it, and the lightheaded relaxation it brought with it. 

A knock sounded at her door. “Come in,” she said, smiling almost sleepily and pouring more mead into her goblet.

Tyrion entered the room and she smiled warmly at him. 

“Lord Tyrion,” she greeted brightly. “Here, have some of this, it’s lovely.”

He sat down and poured some of the mead, then drank deeply. “This is indeed lovely,” he said, smiling. “It’s strong, though. How much did you drink?”

“Three...” she said, holding up the goblet. “I suppose this is four...”

Tyrion frowned. “You’re going to set yourself drunk if you keep at it.”

“So what if I do? I don’t have any further meetings today. In only a few days, I’ll be back at war. Maybe I’d like to get drunk.”

“Jon is going to tell the North of his parentage, as you recommended,” he told her. “He said he would prefer you be there.”

“Have you asked him about my legitimizing him, as you had suggested?”

“No, Your Grace. He’s quite angry at me. In fact, the message I bring to you today was sent by Ser Davos. Last I spoke to Jon, he was in such a temper I could barely get a word out.”

“Daenerys. I’ve asked you when we’re alone together, to call me-“

“All right, Daenerys. Jon is angry at me and I was unable to ask him about the subject.”

She sighed. “What did you do now?”

He smiled again at her words, then sighed deeply. “Nothing now, actually. He’s angry at me over that vision.”

“I see. Well, he’s had it much more recently than I. Not nearly enough time to let it sink in. And in truth, I’m still angry about it. I didn’t think you’d done anything to harm Jon in the vision. But of course I only saw it from my own side.”

“I convinced him to murder you,” Tyrion said heavily. 

Dany stared at him. Anger coursed through her, then faded into the sweetness in her mind. “We will discuss this when I’ve had less to drink,” she said.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Do you know why? Why you wanted him to kill me?”

“I don’t remember the vision. If I had to venture a guess, it would be your burning the city.”

She nodded, her heart sinking at the memory. She poured more mead into her goblet. “Yes,” she said. “I suppose it was that.”

“Are you sure you should be drinking more?”

“You? You are going to give me trouble about drinking too much?”

“I’m not giving you trouble. It’s just...Jon would like you to be present when he speaks to the North.”

“You told me this.”

“Yes, well-“

“Did he say why he wants me there?”

“He doesn’t want you thinking people are plotting against you.”

She nodded. “That’s fair, I suppose. When is he planning to do it?”

“In the next quarter of an hour,” Tyrion said.

Daenerys started to laugh. Wonderful, she thought. She would stumble drunkenly into the council, and they’d talk for years about the Mad King’s daughter being a drunk. 

“I had best change to water then,” she said, but she drained her goblet of its contents before filling it with water. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve made it through many, many meetings quite drunk.”

Dany laughed again. “I’m sure you have.”

“I have a question...unrelated to this.”

“All right.”

“It’s about marriage.”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Daenerys said quickly. 

“I meant my marriage,” Tyrion assured her. 

Daenerys raised her eyebrows, her resistance immediately turning into curiosity. “You’re getting married?”

“Well...would you have any objection to my marrying?”

“No. I told you that you could choose land if you like.”

“What if I wanted to marry but remain your Hand?”

“It would depend on who you marry. If it’s someone who hates me and wishes me harm, I couldn’t possibly keep you on as Hand. You’d be forced into a position of having to choose between your wife and your queen. Even if I trusted you to choose me, it would be an unhappy situation for you.”

Tyrion winced. “You don’t trust me to choose you. Because of that vision.”

Daenerys sighed. “It’s irrelevant. I wouldn’t want you to be forced to choose.”

“Well, I have no intention of marrying someone who hates you. She might hate me...” Tyrion trailed off. 

“If she hates you I think you might have some trouble getting her to marry you,” Dany pointed out.

“Quite true. And I have no doubt she does. How could she not? But assuming she doesn’t, or if she does, and I one day find someone else...”

“Marry who you wish. But don’t force anyone to marry you, and don’t be angry with me if I cannot keep you on as Hand because you’ve married someone who wants me dead.”

“What if...” he hesitated.

Dany could see a great pain in his face. “Go on,” she said, her voice soft.

“What if she were a whore?”

“I would strongly advise not calling a woman that, if you’re attempting to court her.”

“Of course. But if she is. If I wish to marry a whore.”

“Tyrion, that’s between you and her. I fail to see how my opinion is relevant there.”

“You’re the queen.”

“I’m aware of that. But I intend my people to be a free people. I’ll not be telling anyone who to marry.”

“So if I brought a whore to the Tower of the Hand-“

“If you bring a wife to the Tower of the Hand, I like to think I would not be the sort of queen who would call my Hand’s wife a whore. That said, if you’re planning on bringing a string of women to the Tower, yes, I would object to that, because I cannot allow just anyone with access to such documents and information. I don’t wish to be assassinated or undermined. There are brothels for that.”

“But if I were to marry a whore and buy a cottage by the sea and make love to her all day every day-“

“That would be lovely. I would be happy for you, so long as you were happy. Do you have someone in particular in mind?”

“I might. I am going to join you in Essos.”

“Why? No. I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“I’m not asking to go to war. I knew a woman a long time ago. I’d like to see if she’s all right.”

“She’s in Essos?”

“Bran said she was.”

Daenerys nodded. “All right. But bring guards.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Daenerys.” He stood. “We should probably go. Jon is holding the council in the Small Hall.”

She stood, following him into the hallway where her two guards stood with Daario. Daario looked at her, then slid next to her, holding her arm. 

“What are you doing?” She demanded.

“You’ve been drinking,” he observed.

“A little,” she said. “I didn’t realize there would be a council. This is exactly why I don’t usually drink.”

He laughed. “You’re fine. A little flushed. But fine.”

They walked toward the Small Hall, and Daenerys was suddenly glad she’d had so much mead. Surely knots would be tying in her belly otherwise. 

**************************

Sansa wanted to go home. She knew if she did, she would not be able to stop the North from surrendering their independence. Already, Jon was encouraging them to do so. 

Once they had treated him with utter disregard. The bastard of Winterfell. 

And they’d hated Daenerys. Sansa could not believe she’d regretted her unkindness to the silver haired queen. The woman clearly wanted to rule over everything, and of course those around her were fooled.

Sansa had begun to have nightmares again. She would wake as if she hadn’t slept at all, aching all over. 

She remembered believing, truly believing that Cersei and Joffrey loved her. Cared for her.   
Joffrey had promised mercy. Had beheaded her father. Told her that if it were not her father, he would have had him flayed. Such mercy.

She remembered that day on the balcony of the throne room, her face and head still swollen and stinging from the blow Meryn Trant had dealt her at Joffrey’s command. The image of her father’s legs jerking as Ilyn Payne took his head, still running through her mind as she watched Joffrey issue commands from that wretched throne. 

In life, the monsters win, she had told herself that day.   
She reminded herself now.

She had wept in utter humiliation the night before. Tyrion Lannister had rejected her. Why had she expected anything different from any Lannister? 

By now, he’d likely told that silver bitch and they’d probably laughed at her. 

Podrick had attempted to comfort her, but she was far too mortified to tell him what had happened. No doubt Tyrion himself would tell him, and they too would laugh.  
She was shaking.   
A knock sounded at the door, making her jump. 

“Come in,” she called cautiously.

Jon entered, and his eyes were dark and cold as ice.

“Today I will be speaking to the lords and ladies of the North. You have made it clear that you will show no honor or discretion with regard to my parentage, so we must tell them, to avoid it being a weapon against us.”

She shivered. “They have a right to know,” she said. 

“Aye, I can see you think so.”

Sansa could see the tightly controlled fury on his face. 

“I suppose you’re having a council,” she said, not sure what else to say.

“Yes. I’ve already told Bran and Arya, and sent word so Queen Daenerys can be there as well.”

“Why does she have to be there?”

“After all you’ve done, you really must ask? I don’t want her to think we’re plotting against her. I don’t want the North to think I’ll consider turning on her for one second.”

Sansa stared at him. “You would turn on the North for her?”

“She’s not a danger to the North. She’s not a danger to you.”

“She could be.”

“Aye, she could be.” Jon fixed his eyes on hers, almost black and glittering like dragonglass. “She has three dragons, and she has the largest army the world has ever seen. She killed two attackers, one with her bare hands. She has almost all of Westeros behind her now, it’s only the North who hasn’t bent the knee to her. If she wanted to, she could crush the North and everyone in it.”

“So we should bend the knee out of fear.”

“No, Sansa. She’s never demanded we bend the knee. And with all the power she has, she hasn’t once tried to force any of us into anything. She never had to come North at all. She had a plan for the Night King. But she came. And then you and everyone else treated her like an enemy. And I failed her. I never once stood up for her. Never demanded she be treated with the respect she deserved. And I told you about my parents because I wanted you to know that your father never betrayed your mother. I put you above her, I trusted you, even though she told me what you would do, and you betrayed my trust. And she never betrayed me. Never harmed me. I made the wrong decision. And no, I will never choose anyone or anything above her again.” 

Sansa winced. “I wanted you to be the king. You’re a better ruler than her.”

“And yet you didn’t trust me enough to tell me about the Vale joining us when we fought Ramsey Bolton. People died, that may have lived if we’d known. Rickon...”

“Rickon would have died no matter what,” she said, her heart bleeding now. 

“We’ll never know. Because you didn’t trust me. And you would argue with me and question me in front of others. When I told you how that undermines me, you compared me to Joffrey. Do you remember that?”

She shuddered. “Because you were going to do nothing to reward loyalty and punish betrayal.”

“You wanted to punish children for the crimes of their parents. And now you talk about Daenerys’ ability to rule. Do you even see the kind of ruler she is? What she’s already done? And she’s just started.”

“You can’t see her for what she is because you’re in love with her.”

“You can’t see her for what she is because you hate her.”

“I don’t hate her! I just don’t trust her.”

“You don’t know her, and you never tried to know her,” he said, and under the rage in his voice, she heard anguish. “You never gave her a chance. She always put me first, and I never did the same for her. I love her, Sansa.” He sighed. “I love her and I trust her. You don’t have to trust her, but you have got to stop trying to undermine and destroy her. She’s tried to be patient with you. She cannot keep allowing this. The council is within the hour. Out of respect and love for your father, the man who raised me as his own, I’ve invited you to it. I expect you to treat Daenerys with respect.”

He turned and left the room. 

Sansa walked into the Small Hall where Jon had invited the Northern lords and ladies. Podrick and Ser Brienne entered with her, and stood behind her as she took her seat at the table with Jon. Arya was already there, as were Bran and Meera. Most of the lords and ladies had come in as well, Lady Lyanna sitting closest to Jon’s table and looking at him expectantly. 

“We’re waiting for the rest, and Queen Daenerys will be here as well,” he announced.  
“You said we had a few more days to vote on independence or unity,” Lady Lyanna said.   
“Aye, this isn’t about that,” Jon responded.  
“Are we going to talk about it today?” The little lady pressed.  
“You may, if you like. But this council is about another matter.”

“Then why is Queen Daenerys going to be here?” Lord Cerwyn asked. “Aside from your sister Sansa, none of us offended the queen, I trust.”

“Not recently, no,” Jon said. “But I have something I must share with you and I’ve asked that she join us. She’s aware of the situation and has discussed it with her own advisors.”

Daenerys herself entered the hall with Tyrion, her two guards behind her and a handsome man beside her, holding her arm.   
Her face was slightly flushed, and she was smiling at the man holding her arm.  
Jon’s eyes fixed on the man’s arm holding Daenerys’.   
“Captain Naharis,” he greeted.  
“Your Grace,” Captain Naharis responded. He helped Daenerys to her seat and stood behind her beside her guards.   
Daenerys turned to Jon then and her smile widened, such that she almost seemed to glow. Her eyes were shining and Sansa wondered if her fever had returned.   
Jon, for his part, seemed to be lost for a moment, staring into her face. 

“Thank you for joining us, Your Grace,” he said when he recovered himself.

She nodded, still beaming at him, and Sansa could see Captain Naharis watching them both, assessing.

Jon stood. “I have to speak with you all regarding what my sister Sansa said at the feast.” This caused some mumbling but at Jon’s gaze they grew quiet. He sighed. “We have found the story to be true.” He told them the rest, his parentage, his true name, and Sansa could see it hurt him. 

Immediately after, voices rang out in outrage, speaking of brothers, fathers, husbands and sons who had died in the war because they’d thought Lady Lyanna Stark had been kidnapped. If she went willingly, she started a war. How could she not tell her family? 

Their anger was fiercer than Sansa had expected, and Jon stood listening, his eyes taking in their anger as if it were directed at him.

Daenerys glanced at Jon, as if waiting for him to say something, then stood up herself.

“Lady Lyanna Stark did not start this war and nor did my brother,” she said, her voice clear and smooth, a voice accustomed to speaking to people. “We have no way to know whether they sent word. Our own experience with the intercepting of ravens should tell us that. Regardless, this war lays at the feet of my father. Who among you would burn alive a father and brother who came to you in concern about the well being of a beloved daughter and sister? My father sealed his fate, the fate of my family, and the fate of Westeros when he burned Rickard and Brandon Stark. He could have waited to find out the whole story. He chose what he chose and the realm paid the price.”

She sat back down, folding her hands primly in front of her.

Jon was staring at her now, and Sansa could feel her own anger stirring again. 

“So you’re a Targaryen,” Lord Cerwyn said. “Or...a Sand? Sarella Sand said the annulment would not have held up legally.”

Jon hesitated here, and Sansa could not help but to hurt for him. He’d been a bastard his entire life, and it ached still. 

Daenerys was looking at him as well, and Sansa could see such tenderness on her features that Sansa thought for a wild moment that the silver haired queen would embrace him right at the council.

She didn’t. Instead she stood again.

“I realize this situation is dreadfully complicated and as my brother is no longer with us, we can only guess at what his plan may have been,” she said. “The annulment is meaningless but the marriage isn’t. Perhaps the Septons will never accept the existence of a second marriage. Your king is too noble and I am too practical to provoke the Faith after so many years of war. If your king desires it, I will legitimize him and we can lay this to rest. But make no mistake, my lords and ladies, your king is trueborn. Whatever the Septons make of it, his parents did marry and his father claimed him. He is no bastard.”

She sat back down. 

“A Targaryen then,” Lord Cerwyn said.

Jon sighed. “We thought you should know. Aside from Sansa’s lack of discretion, that endangers both the queen and myself, there is the fact that you deserve to know. Your experience with Targaryens in the past has made you wary. So you have every right to choose a new king, if you so desire. While I am in Essos, Bran will hold the Northern crown.”

“You’re still coming to Essos?” Daenerys demanded. 

“I am,” he told her. 

She looked as if she might argue, but thought better of it and glared at her hands, folded in front of her.

Lady Lyanna Mormont stood then. “Our experiences with Targaryens in the past has indeed made us wary, Your Grace. But it is, as you say, the past. The North remembers. We may remember forever the crimes of Aerys Targaryen. But we must also remember the deeds of yourself and Queen Daenerys. It is because of the two of you, and Arya Stark, that we live at all. You fought the Boltons. You gathered us together to fight the Night King. You are my King. Snow or Sand or Stark or Targaryen, you have Ned Stark’s blood and Ned Stark’s honor. You are my king. From this day until my last day.”

“If we were to swear fealty to Queen Daenerys, would you still be our king?” Lord Cerwyn asked. 

“He would be Warden of the North,” Lord Manderly said. 

“Unless the two of you intend to marry,” Lord Cerwyn said, looking at Jon and Daenerys. They both had the look of deer facing a hunter, and Sansa almost laughed.

“I’d like to explain, Your Grace, why independence is important to us,” Lady Lyanna said to Daenerys. 

“I understand,” Daenerys said quickly, “if you wish to tell me, of course I’ll listen. But this decision is entirely your own.”

“But you want all the kingdoms,” Sansa cried before she could stop herself. “You know you do, why can’t you just admit it?”

Daenerys’ eyes turned icy as they fixed on Sansa. “I do. I never said I didn’t. But freedom means choosing for yourself. I have no desire or intention to force anyone to follow me.”

“No, you’ll just manipulate us,” Sansa snapped. 

“Sansa,” Jon said warningly.

“If my presence is no longer required, I should probably-“ Daenerys began, starting to stand.

“Cersei did the same thing,” Sansa raged at her, as a flood of memories threatened to drown her, and Daenerys sat back down, sighing. “I used to trust her. She was so queenly and beautiful, just like you. When father wanted to leave here, I wanted to stay! He told us he was sending us home.” The horror of those days choked at her, and she pressed on, goaded by the sudden look of alarm on Daenerys’ face. “But I trusted and trusted. He said he was sending me and Arya home and I-“

“Enough!” Daenerys suddenly thundered, standing. “That’s enough.”

“I need the lords and ladies to know what it costs to trust whoever sits on that wretched throne,” Sansa stormed back at her.

Daenerys turned her gaze to the lords and ladies, who watched in horrified fascination. “Leave us,” she told them, and they began to move toward the door.

“She’s not your queen!” Sansa bellowed. “Obeying her is treason to your king, unless you plan on handing her the kingdom of the North on a silver-“

“Leave us,” Jon commanded then. 

Sansa watched them rush from the room, then sat down, deflated.

“Sansa, I don’t even know anymore what to do with you,” Jon said. 

Daenerys was still standing, her eyes wide and fixed on Sansa in shock and, to Sansa’s outrage, almost pity.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She snapped.

“If you would do me one kindness,” Daenerys said to her, her voice low now, almost cautious. “Please think for a moment about what you were going to say.”

“I don’t have to think about it! I’ve lived with it.”

“And have you discussed it with the Northmen?” She asked.

Sansa stood and walked to the window, looking out. She was shivering violently. She remembered going to Cersei and pouring her heart out. Her father was going to take her away, she’d sobbed. He wasn’t going to let her even say farewell to Joffrey. Gods. She’d been so stupid. She’d been escorted then to Maegor’s Holdfast, guards outside her door...and her father arrested. The fighting had started a few hours later.   
Jeyne had shrieked to her, they’re killing everyone! 

Sansa could remember the clanging of steel and the grunts and moans of the dying, as if it had happened that very day.

Would it have happened if Sansa hadn’t gone to Cersei? Would her father be alive? And his men? 

She would never know. She remembered the letter she’d written to Robb, fighting with Arya over it. Her fear the Northmen would see it. But this. This was far worse. She hadn’t been forced or pressured to betray her father to Cersei, she’d done it of her own will, to save her betrothal to Joffrey. She felt bile rise in her throat. 

She turned then, sharply, as a cold blade of fear thrust into her. 

“How did you know what I was going to say?” She asked Daenerys. 

“Cersei wrote a letter to her father about it,” she answered quietly.

Sansa shuddered. “And you found this letter.”

“I did.”

“And you stopped me because you’d hoped to use it to blackmail me,” she accused, and Daenerys turned suddenly pale with anger. “You couldn’t use it as a weapon against me if I told them,” Sansa pressed on.

“I burned it,” Daenerys said. “But maybe I should have just let you go on. Ruin your own life the way you’re trying to ruin mine.”

“I don’t believe you burned it. What motive would you have?”

Daenerys glanced at Bran.

“She did,” Bran offered dispassionately. “She burned it.”

“It seemed to me like the kind of information that could only bring harm,” Daenerys said, her gaze sweeping back to Sansa. “You keep saying I’m like Cersei. What would Cersei have done in my position if she found such a letter?” Daenerys’ eyes were fixed on hers with rage and weariness. “And now consider what you would have done if our roles were reversed. And then ask yourself which of us is like Cersei.”

Daenerys turned to Jon. “I find this council has exhausted me more than I’d expected, Your Grace. Please excuse me.”

She turned then and left the room, followed by her guards and Tyrion.

“What did you do?” Arya asked her.

Sansa thought she would be sick. “I’m going to rest as well,” she said. She walked out of the room and then ran down the hallway, rushing into her chambers, into the privy where she sicked up all she’d eaten. She retched violently, then weakly made her way to her bed, collapsing into sobs that shook her until she fell asleep.


	32. Chapter Thirty Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I finally added the Randyll Tarly MVP tag, as requested by the amazing and awesome 1thirteen3.   
This chapter, Dany and Arya talk, Jon and Dany start to get a little closer again, Sansa starts to take steps in a better direction, the war council happens (thank you kattysnape for the suggestion about gathering Westerosi armies, AWESOME idea) and ReganX for all your amazing thoughts and suggestions.  
And thank all of you for your comments and kudos and for sticking with me and reading my fic!  
I hope you enjoy this chapter! :-)

Chapter Thirty Two

Daenerys trudged back to her room wearily.  
She was relieved that Jon had told the North of his parentage, despite what could follow. Tyrion walked in silence beside her on one side, Daario on the other. Daario kept glancing at her, and as they entered her chambers, he turned to her.

“That’s him, isn’t it? The man you love. Jon Snow or Aegon Targaryen or whatever his name is.”

Daenerys lifted the jug of mead, filling her goblet and sitting down, waving her hand in invitation for Daario and Tyrion to do the same. Tyrion took her up on it immediately, pouring himself some mead, but Daario stood before her, waiting for her to answer.

“Unsurprisingly, I don’t care to discuss this with you,” Dany said, her voice firm but not ungentle.

“Is that the complication? He’s your nephew? I thought Targaryens did that all the time.”

“I’m trying to figure out exactly what I said or did, that convinced you I wanted to talk to you about this matter,” she said. “Whatever it was, I can assure you, I don’t.”

“The two of you looked at each other as if you would have fucked right on that table if no one else were there.”

“I should go check on-“ Tyrion began, starting to stand. 

“You will stay,” Daenerys said. “Daario, I’m sure you have much work to do. Please feel free to take your fill of wine or ale after you’ve finished. The Small Hall is stocked well. Thank you for all you’re doing.”

He started to say something else, then turned and stormed out of the room. 

“He’s not happy,” Tyrion observed.

“And I’m sorry for that, but I don’t want to find myself in that conversation with him right now. You knew too, didn’t you? What Sansa was about to say.”

“My sister told me,” Tyrion said. “Sansa was...well, she thought herself in love with Joffrey. She was very young.”

Daenerys looked out the window, sighing deeply. She felt overwhelmed with sadness for the girl Sansa must have been. “She would have broken Jon’s heart, and probably Arya’s too.”

“Is that why you stopped her?”

“I...mostly.”

“He loves you.”

“And I love him. But I can’t expect him to give up his home.”

Right here, his voice echoed in her head. She drank more mead. 

“He said you’ll never forgive him.”

“I’ve already forgiven him. I just don’t want to be hurt like that again. Forgiving him is one thing. Opening myself up like that again is something else entirely.”

“Can I give you some advice?”

“Can I stop you?”

“I don’t think he’ll do what he did. He certainly won’t harm you.”

Daenerys hoped that was true. She wanted it to be true. 

“I have no way to know that for certain.”

“Will you be burning any cities?”

She glared at him. “I didn’t just wake up and decide to burn the city, Tyrion.” 

“I realize that. But I don’t think he just woke up and decided to kill you. I don’t think I just woke up and decided to conspire with him.”

She sighed. “I don’t think that either.”

“If you love each other, then-“

“Tyrion, I loved him more than anything,” she explained, “more than myself, more than life. If I let myself love him like that again, and he decides for whatever reason he doesn’t want me anymore, it will be the end of me. I can’t go through it again.”

Tyrion nodded. “I understand,” he said softly. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then a knock on the door and a guard with a message interrupted them; Edmure Tully was not pleased about giving Harrenhal to someone who was not from the River Lands.

The missive was respectful enough, explaining that the River Lands had bled for years and the land should be given to a family who had bled with it.

Daenerys handed the scroll to Tyrion. He read it, then sighed deeply. 

“I’ll go talk to Bronn,” he said, finishing his mead and standing to go. 

“Thank you, Tyrion,” she responded softly. 

Daenerys sat alone, contemplating what had happened. It had been one thing when Sansa had been saying things to harm Dany; this was how one treated an enemy, and she had been expecting it at some point; but this had been information that would have damaged Sansa herself, and Dany had not expected that, and now she couldn’t figure out what to make of it. 

She thought about that other life. Her own rashness. How she’d rushed back into battle while her men and Rhaegal were still injured. And after Missandei and Rhaegal died...she shuddered. 

Daenerys was wondering if she should simply avoid Sansa all together. It could not possibly be a benefit to her authority to have someone blatantly disrespecting her in public. She had already allowed far too much.

But Dany was not going to be like her father. She was not going to be like Cersei or Joffrey.

At the same time, she’d read of her ancestor Aenys, and had heard much of Tyrion’s grandfather Tytos Lannister. She could not be like them, either. 

She stood up, pacing the room as she wrestled with her thoughts.

A ruler who allows herself to be publicly disrespected will not rule safely or for long.

But a ruler who cuts people down, people who are responding to years of betrayal and abuse, might well be a tyrant. 

She startled at a knock on the door, and called out to enter, resuming her pacing.

Arya Stark entered her room, and Daenerys smiled at her. “Please take a seat. There’s mead there if you want some.”

Arya obeyed, pouring some of the mead and tasting it.

Her face wrinkled immediately. “This is sweet,” she said. 

Daenerys laughed. “It is indeed.”

Arya watched her pacing. “You never showed up for our training. I waited for you.”

“I’m sorry about that. I should have said something. I assumed you would be angry at me because I had an argument with Jon.”

“You thought I’d break my word to you because you fought with Jon?”

“I know you’re loyal to each other.”

“Yeah, but it’s not as if you harmed him,” Arya pointed out. 

“I would never harm him.”

“I know. And you’re my friend. I’m not going to break a promise because you and Jon got into a squabble.”

Daenerys looked at her, surprised, smiling despite herself. “I’m your friend?”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Obviously. Bran wouldn’t tell us what Sansa was going to say.”

“I hope you’ll forgive me but I can’t tell you either.”

Arya sighed. “I figured as much. So...are you going to punish her?”

“I’m not her queen, and the North are not my people. If there’s to be punishment, it must be Jon to do it. But I was thinking I must avoid her. I cannot keep allowing her to treat me that way in front of people. It makes me look weak and invites others to do the same.” She shared her thoughts about her ancestor Aenys and Tytos Lannister. 

Arya nodded. “They called Tytos Lannister the toothless lion,” she supplied. 

Daenerys sat down, drinking her mead. “So you see my problem.”

“What are you thinking of doing?”

“It’s like I said, I’m not her queen. I’m in a situation where there’s no winning. If I allow it, others will follow suit. If I take action, I put Jon in a precarious position.”

“Jon?”

“He’s her king, and she’s his sister. His cousin, really, but his sister in all but fact. If I act, it could have two results. It could look like he’s not strong enough to control his own people, to my subjects. And it could look like he’s not defending his sister to his own.”

Arya frowned. “This I why I hate politics.”

Daenerys laughed. “Well, what would you do?”

Arya shrugged. “I used to throw food at her. Once I pulled her hair.”

“Hm. As satisfying as that sounds, I don’t think that would be a good course of action for me.”

“I used to be cupbearer to Tywin Lannister. He was pretty good at politics.” 

“And what would Tywin Lannister have done if someone kept disrespecting him?”

Arya laughed. “There wouldn’t be a ‘kept.’ She’d have been tossed into a dungeon the night of the feast, and by now would be serving with the Silent Sisters.”

Daenerys stared at her. “You think that’s what I should have done?”

“No.” Arya finished her mead. “So we aren’t training today?”

“Could we train tomorrow instead?”

“Sure.” They settled on meeting in the afternoon, and Arya left to see to her own practice. Daenerys watched as Blackwater Bay began to darken. 

****************

Jon was walking down the hall to Dany’s chambers. He and Arya had asked Bran what Sansa had done, but Bran had stated that it was really Sansa’s place to tell them. 

Arya had added that Daenerys never showed up for the training they’d planned, and then when he’d gone to see what plans were being made for the war in Essos, Yara Greyjoy told him that Dany had said he wasn’t going. 

He needed to speak with her.

He knocked on her door, and her voice called to come in. 

She was sitting at her table, watching the sky darken over the Blackwater. 

She smiled when she saw him, and she looked so flushed and happy, he couldn’t bring himself to speak harshly. He sat down across from her, and she pushed the jug toward him. 

“It’s mead,” she said.

He poured some into a goblet, drinking. He hadn’t had mead in some time, and the flavor brought back an unexpected wave of memories, of being young at Winterfell. He’d been allowed a cup at the occasional feast once he came of age, and though he didn’t sit with the rest of his family, his being granted the cup made him almost feel like one of them. 

“Dany, did you tell Yara Greyjoy I wasn’t going to Essos?”

She was still smiling, but it faded slightly and he regretted asking, but he had to discuss this with her.

“After our argument I’d hoped you wouldn’t go,” she admitted.

“You thought I would stay here because we had an argument?” 

She nodded. “I don’t want you to go. I’m afraid you’ll be hurt.”

“I told you. I-“

“I remember what you told me.”

“And you thought that would disappear because we had a fight?” She didn’t answer. “Dany, I realize I fucked up in that other life-“

“I did, too,” she said.

“Only after we-“

“Before I met you. I should not have listened to Tyrion. I should have taken the capitol first. I could have done it with no civilian casualties. Then, I should never have agreed to that plan to get a wight for Cersei. Once I didn’t take the city, I should have waited to attack after the battle at Winterfell, like Sansa said. I should not have been so dismissive of your feelings with regard to your parentage.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I shouldn’t have judged you for the Tarlys. You had the right of it, execution is the Westerosi punishment for oathbreaking.”

“Maybe. But this way turned out far better. I did it differently this time because I didn’t want to exchange Samwell Tarly’s saving one of my dearest friends, for my killing his father and brother. And look what came of it. Randyll Tarly saved a thousand of my Unsullied in the battle of Winterfell, and I may end up owing them all my life, if those writings are as valuable as Qyburn claims.”

“It turned out well. But still, I should not have...we should not have judged you with a different measure than we did everyone else.”

“True. And being honest, I’m quite tired of that. But truly, how could you not? I came here deliberately claiming my rule would be better than everyone else who ruled before me.”

“Aye, and so far it is.”

“As is yours.” 

“Dany...” Jon braced himself. “I’m coming with you. If you forbid me from going on your fleet, I’ll take a ship of my own. But I’m going.”

“I’m not coming directly back here after.”

“Why?” He demanded. “You shouldn’t even be going until after you’ve-“

“I realize that. But I must. This is the time. Too many will die waiting. And there’s a good possibility it will be too late for me, after the war. If I survive, I need to go to Braavos. I want to see the house again, the one-“

“With the red door and the lemon tree,” he said, remembering her telling him about her only memory of home, as they’d laid in bed on the ship to White Harbor.

She nodded. “And then I want to see Valyria.”

“Valyria? Dany, you can’t sail a ship to Valyria, it’s-“

“I have no intention of sailing a ship there. I just want to see it. I’ve spent so many years trying to find a place that would be...home. I want to see where we came from. I just want to lay my eyes on it before I die.”

Jon saw the determination in her eyes, and decided not to try to sway her. “Then let me come with you. I can’t imagine going on with my life, waiting for you, and...and never seeing you again.”

She smiled at him tenderly. He finished his mead and poured more. 

“I don’t want any harm to come to you,” she said. 

“Likewise. But if it’s going to, I’d rather be with you. I love you. I know you don’t believe me-“

“I believe you. But I know well you can’t love me as I love you. And you probably shouldn’t. It’s not healthy to love someone that much.”

“I want to spend the rest of our lives proving to you that I love you with everything in me. And maybe I want to see Valyria too.”

She looked at him, surprised. “Do you?”

“I think everyone does. And to see it with you...your ancestral land.”

“Our ancestral land.”

“If I follow you on a ship I’ll probably die,” he said, smiling at her suddenly.

She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes in mock suspicion. “Are you trying to guilt me into taking you with me on Drogon?”

“Maybe. A little.” 

She laughed. “If we could, I would suggest you ride Rhaegal. But one of them has to stay with Viserion.”

Jon drank more of the mead. “It might be for the best. Understand, I’m not...I don’t think badly of you for riding Drogon into war. But I’ve always fought on the ground, I don’t know if I’m ready to just...”

“Burn enemies? I understand.”

“Do you?”

“You rode Rhaegal into battle against the dead.”

“That was against the dead. It’s harder to burn living people.” She was quiet, and Jon watched her face, hoping he hadn’t hurt her. “What was it like, the first time you did it? Had your dragons burn living people?”

She sighed deeply, and she looked so tired he wanted to gather her into his arms and cradle her there until she slept.

“I’m sorry, Dany. You don’t have to-“

“It’s all right. They were very young. They’d only just learned to cook their food. They were barely bigger than cats. They’d been taken by Warlocks in Qarth. I went to the House of the Undying to rescue them. They were in chains.” Jon could see rage in her eyes, even after all this time. “When I got there, a warlock named Pyat Pree put me in chains, too. My dragons burned him, and when he died, the chains disappeared.” She smiled bitterly. “And we were free but we made a new enemy.”

“You don’t think they would try something. These warlocks.”

She shrugged, almost indifferently. “They did try, once. A manticore in a ball. It doesn’t matter. I have enemies everywhere.”

Jon felt a surge of rage and fear course through him. “You have allies everywhere, too,” he said, reminding himself as much as her.

She nodded. “Maybe. Jon. About Sansa.”

Jon drank again. He’d known this would come up.

“What do you wish me to do?” He asked sincerely. “I’ll do whatever you ask, I swear it.”

“As her king, you must do as you see fit. But as the queen here, I cannot suffer her disrespect any longer. It’s not going to stop, and if I allow it to continue, it will be emulated by others. A ruler who is perceived as weak, is in constant danger.”

“What will you do?”

“Exile her from the city. Send her back to the North. She should not have come here. It’s not good for her. And at this point, it’s not good for me either.”

Jon nodded. “That’s more than fair. Truly.” He studied her. “What was in the letter?”

She shuddered. “Jon...please don’t make me tell you. It’s between the two of you. Between your family.”

“You’re my family.”

“But I’m not hers. She would have ruined herself. I saw the look in her eyes, Jon, and...I remember too well how it feels on the inside of that look. The panic and pain and rage. I’ve felt that way.”

“And did you try to ruin someone who’s done nothing but help you?”

“I burned a city full of terrified civilians.”

Jon reached then to stroke her hair, and she smiled faintly at him. He drank his mead, it’s sweetness filling his senses. As she did.

Gods, she was so beautiful. She was watching the Blackwater again, and the sky had turned full dark.

She poured more mead into both their goblets, but the jug finished with one goblet half full, and she stood to walk toward her cabinet. Jon followed her, and when she turned he caught her shoulders. 

“I love you,” he told her. 

“I love you,” she said softly. 

He leaned in and kissed her, lightly at first, as if to ask her permission, brushing her lips with his; the movement sent thrills through his body, his blood lighting on fire as she leaned into him and kissed him back.

His mouth took hers more fiercely now, and he nibbled gently on her lush lower lip, her own mouth devouring his, searing and hungry. 

She felt so warm in his arms, and he’d craved her touch, her body, her small round breasts and her sweet-

A knock sounded at the door, jarring them both. They fell away from each other, and she looked at him, flushed now with desire. 

Another knock.  
She looked so angry that Jon would have laughed if he wasn’t so irritated himself.

“Come in,” she said, and he could see she’d had to fight herself not to snarl the words.

Lord Edmure Tully entered the room, offering a bow to each of them. 

“Your Graces,” he greeted. “I’ve come to discuss the matter of Harrenhal, if it please Your Grace.”

Daenerys frowned. “I’ve already told Lord Tyrion that he must choose other land for his friend.”

“So he told me. But-and I mean no offense, of course-I don’t trust him. He’s a Lannister and Lannisters-“

“I give you my word we will not be sending anyone to take Harrenhal. I read your letter and you made a fair argument. You may choose who you wish to take the castle.”

“I thank you, Your Grace. You must understand, the land is quite fertile and it’s a large bit of land, too.” 

Daenerys picked up the jug of mead in resignation, pouring more and offering some to Edmure, who eagerly accepted. 

The three of them sat at her table. 

“I’m glad you’re here too, Your Grace,” Edmure told Jon. “It’s good you’re both here. My wife as you know, was a Frey, and the Twins are being held now by women and children. They told my wife that Walder Frey himself killed his men, but then it wasn’t Walder Frey at all. He tore his own face off, and in his place, they said, was a woman. She said Winter came for House Frey, and walked out. What do you make of that?”

Jon frowned. “I can’t say I’m grieving over House Frey. But that’s an odd story.”

“What’s to be done with The Twins?” Edmure asked Daenerys.

“As Lord Paramount of the Riverlands that’s your decision, but I do hope you don’t intend to displace the women and children,” she said.

“Of course not. I was speaking of succession. If I have more than one son, and Roslin is with child now, our second, I was hoping one could take the Twins when he comes of age.”

“I can agree to that, but of course you must be fair with regard to any claims from the other children.”

“Of course, of course.” Edmure continued talking, waxing about the honor of his family, and Jon swallowed his annoyance. It was a fair point the man was making, and Daenerys was the queen, it was important for her to listen fi her people.

But what Jon wanted to do, was tell Edmure to get out. And then he wanted to take Daenerys into his arms and carry her to her bed, tear off all that red and black silk, and cover that soft expanse of ivory velvet skin with his mouth and hands.

She smiled faintly at him, then returned her attention to Edmure, who was telling her about his father. Jon poured more mead and sighed deeply. By the time Edmure finished, it was far too late to continue. Jon walked back to his room cursing Edmure. 

***************************

Sansa woke as the sun was rising. She’d slept fitfully, but the nightmares had not plagued her. She dressed quickly and crept out of her room, almost walking into Podrick.

“Where are we going?” He asked. 

“I was going to take a walk.”

“I’ll come with you.”

She started to object but decided it would be better to have an escort with a sword. He might not wield it as well as Ser Brienne, but he was certainly a better defender than Sansa could hope to be for herself.

She also found she enjoyed his company. He was kind, and would make jokes to get her to laugh. He would sing to her when she couldn’t sleep. He admired her, and she thought sadly that he was the last now to do so.

She walked with him, down the familiar path with its high red walls around the Keep, and out into the city. It was still early, and she could smell baking in the morning air. 

The smell of smoke from the wildfire lingered faintly, to mingle with that of hot, bread. Fresh fish scented the air by the wharf. Sansa saw children running into one of the bakers shops, and through the wide opening a man with grey hair handed them small loaves. She couldn’t hear their conversation, only giggling, and the baker assured them there was plenty for later.

Sansa smiled bitterly at Podrick. “Plenty,” she said. “I wouldn’t think the good people of Kings Landing knew what that word meant.”

Podrick nodded. They both walked on as the memories of hunger riots plagued both of them.

“It was just war and more war for years,” Podrick said.

“I was riding with the Lannister family and their guards once. A woman was holding up her dead baby. People were pressing in on us. I was pulled into the crowd. The Hound rescued me. I don’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t. Lady Tanda’s daughter was raped repeatedly. When they found her and brought her back she was with child.”

Podrick nodded, his brow furrowing. They walked on in silence. Although Sansa had known for some time that the Sept of Baelor was gone, it was still a shock to see the leveled ground where it had stood.

Sansa was relieved not to have to see it, though she still saddened at the thought of kind, beautiful Margaery Tyrell and her brave, handsome brother Loras burned to ashes in seconds by virulent green flames.

She remembered well the day her father died on the steps of the Sept. 

She remembered the crowds praying there on the night of the Battle of the Blackwater, then the helpless wait with Cersei, in the Queens ballroom, the food and drink served to the women and children there. 

No true knight would harm women and children, she’d told Cersei. The queen had laughed mockingly. 

Sansa shivered. They were all dead now. Cersei and Joffrey and Tommen and Stannis and Renly and Robb. Her mother and father. Lady. 

She wondered how her life may have been if Lady had lived. But no. Even Grey Wind, who ran into battle with Robb, had been slaughtered. The only Stark direwolves still living were Ghost and Nymeria. Sansa wondered if Jon missed Ghost. Could he truly turn from his wolf, from his own wolf nature, to live here in this palace of lions? But it was a palace of dragons now. And Jon was a dragon too. She felt tears spring to her eyes. 

The scent of hearth fires filled the air now, as people were stirring. It was full autumn in Kings Landing. Soon winter would take it in its icy grasp. She could smell, in the brisk, light autumn wind, the whisper of winter. 

She frowned suddenly. “This city, especially here...used to smell terrible.”

Podrick laughed. “Lord Tyrion told me they’ve begun to construct new sewers.”

She began to walk back toward the Keep, and saw a few men arguing with the city guards. She hurried her pace, unwilling to be anywhere near conflict, her heart hammering. 

She was hungry by the time they returned, and though it was still early, she decided to go to the kitchens. 

She had not expected many people to be there, not this early, so the bustling of scullions and cooks took her by surprise.

“Oh, good! You’re here,” one of the cooks said, looking relieved. “They told us we were getting help, but we didn’t expect you yet.”

She shoved a large tray piled with bread into Sansa’s hands, then handed Podrick another tray that held an enormous bowl of porridge, a stack of smaller bowls, and utensils.

“Go on, you can come back for the rest,” the cook ordered.

“Where are we taking this?” Podrick asked before Sansa could unleash her outrage at being mistaken for a kitchen servant.

“Down the hall, to the left, up the little stairway...the Queens Ballroom at Maegor’s Holdfast,” she said, her voice impatient. Scullions hurried past them, some holding trays like their own, with bread or porridge, others holding pitchers of fresh water and stacks of cups, still others with trays laden with bowls full of fruits. 

“Bring the fruit last or they won’t eat the porridge,” the cook bleated at them.

“Some of the children like to put the fruit into their porridge, especially the berries,” the scullion explained. 

“Just go,” the cook said in annoyance. 

Podrick walked beside Sansa, and as they approached the Queens Ballroom, the din of children, laughing, yelling, talking grew louder. 

The Queens Ballroom had been packed with tables, and children were lining up beside a larger table at one side of the room.

Sansa saw the trays being laid on that table, so she followed suit, as did Podrick.

“What is happening?” She asked him.

“It’s probably the orphans,” Podrick said. “Lord Tyrion told me that they’re staying in the Keep until the orphanages are rebuilt.”

Sansa watched the children getting their food and sitting down. One girl sat on the low ledge of one of the windows, looking out. Sansa walked toward her. She had short dark hair, and as Sansa grew closer, she saw burn scars along one arm. 

“The food is here,” Sansa told her, making sure to keep her voice soft and gentle.

The girl turned, and for a moment Sansa was relieved to see the girl’s face bore no scars. That relief crumbled as she saw the expression in the girl’s face. Empty but for a lifeless anguish, eyes red and lit with unshed tears.

“I’m not hungry, my lady,” she said dully.

“When was the last time you ate something?”

“Yesterday. Or the day before. I’m not hungry. But thank you.”

She turned back to the window. Sansa wanted to argue, to convince her. She knew it was little use, and there was more work to be done. The porridge had to be served. More women entered, to carry trays, and to help feed children who were too small to feed themselves.

Sansa tried to assist, but was relieved when the children finished eating and were brought to another room. 

Sansa watched the girl by the window stand up when commanded by one of the women who’d come in to help. The girl walked slowly, as if dragging her feet in mud. It hurt Sansa to watch her, but she couldn’t look away until the girl had left the room with the other children.

*****************************

Daenerys stood at her war council, going over the map of Essos. Daario had provided her with the information he had, and Varys, who had entreated her to allow him to attend, and presented her with a blueprint of the Red Keep with all its secret passageways marked, as a gift for future reference, then told her what information he had gathered about the situation in Essos. Bran had given additional information; how many scorpions the enemy had, where they intended to place them. 

“They’ve paid the Golden Company to assist them,” Varys warned.

“The Golden Company,” she scoffed. 

“I wouldn’t be so dismissive, Your Grace. They’ve twenty thousand men. They also have elephants.”

Dany frowned. “Elephants?” She didn’t remember elephants from that day in her vision. 

“Elephants don’t travel well overseas,” Bran told her. “But they will have them in Essos.”

“That’s...irritating.” Elephants would pose a problem. They were too large to take the time to burn, and if they saw fire everywhere, they might stampede. She could always pick off the riders with arrows, but it still left the problem of a possible stampede. 

“If we dip arrows into poison or even something to make them sleep, it would neutralize them,” offered Daario.

Dany nodded, returning her attention to her map. If they could somehow evacuate the city of Astapor and Yunkai, as they had with Kings Landing, moving the women, children and elderly out and arming the rest...but of course that would be noticed, and once it was stopped, Dany had no doubt the people caught would suffer grisly punishments to serve as an example.

She’d sent out word that she would reward any Westerosi soldiers who agreed to fight in this war. She’d received a much larger response than she’d anticipated, and now men were pouring in to join the ships to Essos.

They spoke for the next few hours, going over supplies, routes, methods of attack, whether to take Yunkai first or Astapor. At that, Kinvara had mentioned Volantis. That they were ready, that the triarchs would be expecting an attack, but did not know that the Tiger Cloaks would turn on them. That Doniphos had managed to get re-elected and would work with Daenerys, he’d never wanted to make war with her. Kinvara thought they should take Volantis first, as that would add the Tiger Cloaks to their armies, and the Fiery Hand would join them as well. 

Inevitably Varys and Kinvara began to fight about magic. 

Daenerys tried to keep her attention on the strategy, and steer them back to it as well.

Bran had provided a wealth of information, and was able to hone Varys’ information as well. 

“But I can only tell you what is, not what will be,” Bran said warningly.

“What if we had a glass candle?” Sarella asked suddenly. “Would you know when we lit it? Could you tell us what we need to know then?”

“Us?” Daenerys asked, turning to her. “I thought you were staying here.”

“I was thinking I would go with you,” she said. “But if you prefer I stay, I will.”

“I do. You are one of the wisest people I know, and I think your presence will be of crucial value here.”

Sarella nodded. “All right. Still, a glass candle-“

“Do we have a glass candle?” Tyrion asked.

“I have one. I’ll lend it to you.” 

Daenerys smiled at her gratefully. “Thank you.”

“Your Grace, I do hope you’re bringing someone with you who has some medicinal knowledge,” Sarella added.

“There are healers in Essos if people are injured in the war.”

“I’m talking about for you. For your condition.”

“There wouldn’t be much they could do, I fear.” She caught Daario’s frown and dove back into strategic planning. 

When the war council was completed, most of the room cleared. Yara wanted to see how many Westerosi men were joining them, to ensure she had the space on her ships and proper resources. Grey Worm and Qhono wanted to get back to training. 

Sarella, Lord Willas and Lady Olenna remained with Daenerys and Missandei to go over contracts to present to any kingdoms remaining independent, outlining terms of repayment and methods of demonstrating hardship if they needed to delay.

Tyrion informed her that men were stealing bread and other foods from bakers, and occasionally meat as well.

“Why?” She asked. “I specifically arranged to have food provided for people who’ve been unable to find work while they recover.”

“Yes,” Tyrion agreed. “And they’ve been giving extra bread to children in the mornings and again in the evenings.”

“So why then are men stealing food? It makes no sense at all.”

Tyrion sighed. “They don’t steal out of hunger now. Not hunger for food. They steal out of fear. The hunger they have now, with full bellies and stocked cabinets, is a hunger that is not so easily fed. It’s a hunger for safety.”

“I have promised them safety.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but they don’t know you yet. That’s part of it. Cersei made them promises, as did Joffrey, and the people have done nothing but suffer. The one ruler they had in all these years who did what you do-walk among them, comfort them, feed them-was Queen Margaery. And she was murdered. They are afraid that now the war is won, you will not keep your promises, and they are certain that if you do, you will be murdered. They are stealing food out of fear and desperation.”

Daenerys sighed. She couldn’t punish them harshly, they were abused and terrified people; but nor could she allow them to continue stealing. 

“Do we know who the thieves are?”

“Yes, Your Grace. They were arrested this morning, and the rest a little later.”

“I will go and speak to them. Was there anything else?”

“No, Your Grace.”

Daenerys went to speak with the guards to find out if the thieves had done any violence. This could not be tolerated and must be punished.

They hadn’t, so she asked to have them brought before her. 

She had always made such judgments from her throne in Meereen, and she did so now. She knew people feared the throne. She knew some level of fear was absolutely necessary, but fear alone was not enough. She would have to, over time perhaps, demonstrate that the throne was not a reason to fear unless there had been some crime.

She saw the men brought to her, and her heart ached. Even after the moons of care at Dragonstone and now here at Kings Landing, the men were far too thin. They had haunted eyes and most bore scars. One was missing an eye, another missing a hand.

“I understand you have been stealing food,” she said, careful to ensure that her voice was firm but not harsh. The men shuddered, but none of them spoke. “Do any of you deny the charge?” They looked miserably at the floor, at the guards, at her, then back to the floor. She sighed. “Do any of you not have enough food?”

They glanced at each other now, and one stepped forward. “We do, Your Grace. You’ve been most generous.”

Not generous enough if you’re still this thin and wearing rags, Dany thought.

“I have been told that none of you have committed any violence. That’s good for you, as I would have to take stronger measures if you had. As it is, I’m sentencing you all to work in the common kitchens. You will help prepare and serve the food that is provided to those who are unable to work. The food will be watched. If there is some reason you would like more, you must ask. Do not steal again. I am hoping you will see that when you steal this food, you are not stealing from me, or from my court, you are stealing from people who have suffered as you have.”

She asked the guards to provide them with food and a bath, and then show them where they would be stationed to fulfill their sentence. 

After that, there were more petitions. Daenerys glanced at Tyrion, who grinned at her. 

“This brings back some of my very few enjoyable memories here,” he told her. 

Most of the petitions were straightforward. A man stole another man’s fishing boat. The thief had lost his in a storm and could not afford a new one. 

She ordered him to spend ten days in prison where he would be fed. His family would be fed at the common kitchens during that time. Then the crown would loan him the coin needed to build another boat for fishing, and to pay the man whose boat he’d stolen, for coin lost while his boat was missing. 

“And going forward,” Dany said, “ask for a loan rather than stealing. We can always work something out to help you feed your family. But you’ve prevented another man from feeding his. That cannot be tolerated.”

The next man was dragged in by guards, and he was shaking all over, sobbing desperately.

She looked at the guards curiously. “What is the charge?”

“He’s a singer,” the guard explained. 

Daenerys frowned. “I don’t remember making that a crime,” she said.

“Maybe you should hear the song he was singing,” the guard said. Dany was still somewhat confused, but these guards had been Lannister guards before; maybe people had used songs to pass on treasonous information?

“All right, let’s hear it,” she said, and immediately the singer began to sob, apologizing and promising not to sing it again.

This is ridiculous, Dany thought. The man was ready to piss all over himself.

She sighed impatiently. “If you hate singing this song so much, I wonder how the guards heard it,” she said in annoyance. 

The man sucked in through his nose, and wiped at his face. He began to sing in a trembling little voice, a bawdy song that was about some odd sexual coupling between a wolf and a dragon, and Dany had to admit it was a funny song. A little graphic. She knew well there were many songs about her and Jon. She wondered though if this one was meant to be about Jon’s parents. 

When he finished, the room was silent other than the man’s controlled little sobs. 

Dany glanced at Tyrion, as if to ask him if this was truly a thing that needed punishment. 

“This song could certainly be taken as disrespectful to our queen,” Tyrion said firmly, and she could see that he, like herself, wanted to laugh at some of the lines. 

“I meant no disrespect, Your Grace, truly I didn’t.”

“Good,” Daenerys said. “I’m going to sentence you to sing for the children I have in my protection here. I’d advise leaving that particular song off your list. I don’t think children need to hear songs of sexual couplings. You will be paid for this, and at some point I’d like to hear the rest of your songs. I love a good bawdy song on occasion. Perhaps singing for young people will help you remember how to use your gift for humor in a way that’s respectful.” 

The man was staring at her now, and the guards looked disappointed. She glanced at them, smiling warmly. “Thank you both for bringing this to my attention. Your loyalty will be rewarded. Please make certain this man isn’t singing songs that will traumatize the children.”

The man was dragged out, and Dany glanced at Tyrion. “Was I supposed to harm him for singing a song?”

Tyrion sighed. “It’s at your discretion. My nephew Joffrey once had a singer choose between cutting off his fingers or his tongue over a song he sang.”

“Your nephew Joffrey was a monster.”

“True. I once killed a man over a song.”

“Lord Tyrion! Why?”

“He was using it to blackmail me. I was keeping a whore. My father said he would kill her if I brought her to court. The song was dangerous. Sometimes they are. It was wise of you to reward the guards. But no, in this case, punishing him would not have been the best course. My sister wanted to cut out the tongues of anyone who spoke of her relationship with Jaime. Sometimes a severe response like that makes you yourself look guilty.”

She nodded thoughtfully. There were only a few more petitions, and the issues there were easily solved, to her relief. 

She was still worrying over the singer. She could not imagine punishing a man severely over a song, and truly she felt it tyranny to harm people for laughing on occasion at their rulers. But she knew well that rulers who were laughed at were rarely respected. She needed to find a way to show strength without needless brutality. There had to be some way, some balance.

********************

The morning had passed quickly, but afternoon was moving at a glacial pace. Jon desperately wanted night to fall so he could conjure some excuse to go to Dany’s chambers. He could barely focus on anything else. He ate his midday meal and walked around the Keep, trying to keep his mind occupied.   
People were training, and he saw Arya with Dany. He watched them, smiling. 

Arya was better than he’d realized, and he was full of warmth and gratitude to her for accepting Daenerys as she had. He shuddered as he remembered that other life. He’d felt so alone, and he’d made Dany feel even more alone.

Arya was advising Daenerys now, walking to her and putting her hands on her hips, helping her stance. As her hands were necessarily moving over Dany’s body-

“Good,” she was saying, “That way when you pivot-“

-Jon wondered why he hadn’t thought of trying to train with her.

Not only for the opportunity to touch her, he reminded himself. But truly, he wanted her to be able to defend herself.

They went back to practicing. 

“Beautiful sight,” came a voice behind him, and he turned to see Daario Naharis, watching the training as well.

“Captain Naharis,” he greeted.

“Your Grace,” Naharis responded. 

They stood a few moments in silence. 

“You’d best be careful with her,” Naharis said. 

Jon glanced at him. “Careful with her?”

“If you break her heart, I’ll kill you.”

“Is that a fact?”

“It is. I know, you’re the greatest swordsman who ever lived. Blah blah. I’ve heard them talk. I don’t care. I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid for her.”

Jon turned to face Naharis, glaring at him. “Afraid for her? You think I’ll hurt her?”  
He wondered if Dany had told him about her vision.

“I know your type. Family first and all that tripe.”

“I suppose you would throw your family into a river.”

“I don’t have family. My mother was a whore. I never knew my father. I’m no king and I have nothing to offer her but loyalty. But she’s achieved the rest on her own. All she really needs is loyalty, and it’s more than you’re giving her.”

Jon was angry now. “Is that what she told you?”

“No. She hasn’t told me anything. But I have eyes. I saw you allow your sister or cousin or whatever that red haired weasel is to you, to disrespect her. And I could see it wasn’t the first time. I saw you standing there like a tree when your people asked whether or not you’re a bastard, and her soft hearted self defending you. You’ll let her make enemies and endanger herself for you, and you won’t even stand up for her to your family. I know you dragged her into some conflict in the North, and now they have the audacity to still be deciding whether she’s worthy of their fealty.”

“It’s not that simple-“

“It is that simple. When I met her, my Second Sons had been hired by her enemy to fight her. My commanders ordered me to murder her. I killed them both and brought her their heads, and told her we were hers.”

“And I suppose you think that was honorable.”

“If honor means harming her, then fuck honor.”

Jon sighed. “You love her.”

“One of many, I know. I’m not a danger to her, any more than the next man who loves her. We add to her strength. But not you. You are a danger to her. Because she loves you. And you don’t add to her strength, you expect her to rely on her own, and add it to yours when you need her. She adds to your strength. But you’re one of her very few weaknesses, and your rotten sister and any number of other people see that. They exploit it. And you let them.”

Jon shuddered, turning back to Dany and Arya; he must have missed something, because they were both laughing. 

“I have a question,” Daario went on. “At the war council, Sarella Sand mentioned Daenerys having a condition. Is she with child?” 

“I think that’s something you should discuss with her.”

“I’m taking that as a yes. Is it yours?” Now Daario’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Jon’s hand went instinctively to his sword. “You got her with child, you don’t stand up for her, you won’t marry her-“

“She’s not with child,” Jon said. “And I asked her to marry me and she said no. Anything else you want to know, you had best ask her.”

Daario looked at him coldly, then nodded. “I will.” He turned and walked away. 

Jon was angry as he walked back to his chambers, but he was more angry at himself than at Daario Naharis. The man might be a presumptions arrogant git, but what he’d said was true.

He entered the room and saw Sansa sitting there waiting for him.

He sat down, glaring at her. “What do you want, Sansa?”

“I saw her today. In the throne room.”

“If you came here to attack her-“

“I didn’t. I decided on what I’d like to do to earn back my title. If it’s still an option.”

“If you disrespect her one more time-one more, Sansa-it won’t be.”

“One of the options was to work with the widows and orphans. I saw them today. I...I want to work with them. I saw a girl there, who-“

“You’ll have to work with the widows and orphans in the North. Daenerys is exiling you from the city.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “No! It has to be here! This girl-“

“It’s out of my hands, Sansa. She’s tired of you disrespecting her. And it’s dangerous to her. I’m angry at myself, too. Out of my love and loyalty to your father, I let you get away with far too much. It ends now.”

Sansa’s eyes filled with tears, and Jon would have felt sympathy once. But now he could only think of the danger to Dany. And of Sansa’s betrayal in that other life. Of Daenerys, lifeless in his arms, because he had killed her to protect his sisters.

“Jon, please, I promise I won’t-“

“I couldn’t let you stay even if I wanted to. She’s the queen and she wants you gone. You’re lucky it’s exile, not execution.”

Sansa shuddered, then stormed out of the room.

*****************************

Daenerys ate her evening meal with her small council. She listened to them talking, smiling at stories they told and ideas they had. She noticed that Lord Willas and Lady Sarella often finished each other’s sentences.   
This cheered her. They both deserved happiness, and she could see their natural affection for each other.

She wondered if it was selfish to be thinking that if she did not return from Essos, and they married, Sarella would be an excellent queen.   
She should be thinking about their happiness, not her own obsession with how she would leave the world, if she had to leave it soon.

Missandei and Grey Worm too looked at each other with adoration, and with that, the confidence of being adored in return.

After dinner she sat with all of them, drinking and talking. It reminded her of that night on Dragonstone, when the Tyrells had first arrived. One of the few times on this Western continent, and maybe ever, that she’d felt like she was home. 

She had drank more wine than she intended. She didn’t notice until she was returning to her quarters. She decided she wasn’t going to chastise herself. It would be too soon before there would be only fighting and dying. No wine, no happy chatter.

“I’m going to walk with you,” Tyrion’s voice crept behind her, and he offered her his arm. “You’re stumbling.”

“You drank as much as I did,” she said, taking it.

“More, actually. But then, I drink much more than you do in general. I don’t get drunk as quickly as you do.”

“Fair point.”

As they entered her room, Tyrion poured two goblets of mead, handing her one as they sat.

“No lecture about drinking too much?” She asked him.

“You’re already drunk. A lecture would be pointless now.”

She nodded, drinking, then thought again of that song. She started to sing a line from it, and Tyrion joined her, then they both started laughing. 

“Gods, that was a funny song,” Tyrion said.

“It was all I could do not to laugh right there. You don’t really think I should have punished him harshly, do you? It wasn’t harmful.”

“It was good you gave a sentence, because it shows disapproval on the subject of being mocked. You cannot allow disrespect. It’s worse for me to allow it. I’m a dwarf, my family has lost its wealth. If people start laughing at me, I’m finished. But you...you have dragons and armies and it’s gotten out that you killed two assassins yourself. It’s less dangerous for you in that way because you’re more...frightening.”

“Frightening? I don’t want to be frightening.”

“With respect, I disagree. You want to be a little frightening. But you want to be trusted as well. That’s why it’s also good that the sentence was light. It shows you aren’t afraid of what he has to say, and it shows you’re not brutal. And entertaining the children was even better, though the best part was that you asked him to sing for you. That’s something I’d recommend doing often. Have singers entertain you, have contests for them. Singers tell the world who they think you are. Have you ever heard The Rains of Castamere?”

She looked at him blankly. “No.”

Tyrion laughed. “You may be the first person I’ve met who hasn’t. My father used it much to his advantage. You want to win the singers over. You may want to consider having plays as well.”

She thought about that. “I love this idea,” she said. “It’s so rare that a good political idea sounds so pleasant.”

“So...was the wolf’s cock enough to satisfy the dragon?” 

They both burst into laughter again. 

“I thought for a moment the song might be about Jon’s parents, before that line,” Dany said.

“The singer looked like he wanted to crawl under the floor when he sang it.”

They were laughing again when a knock sounded at the door. 

“Come in,” she called, trying to stop laughing. 

Sansa Stark entered the room, and Daenerys felt her laughter dry up immediately.

“Your Grace,” she said, her voice low.

“What is it?” Daenerys asked, trying not to allow her voice to give way to angry shouting.

“Jon told me you’re exiling me.”

“From Kings Landing. You can still visit your family in the Vale or Riverrun.”

“I wanted to volunteer with the widows and orphans,” she said in a rush.

“Good. I’m sure that will be beneficial for everyone. Now if that’s all-“

“I saw them today. The children you have here. I went to the kitchen and they thought I was there to help. So, I helped.”

“Thank you for that.”

“I thought the way you set it up there was good for them. What do they do after?”

Dany sighed. She figured if Sansa planned on setting up something similar in the North fit the children there, she couldn’t withhold her plans. She reluctantly indicated a chair for Sansa to sit down.

“It depends on their age, really. But most of them were never taught to read, so they learn that. I’ve been sending people with different trades to go and talk to them, teach them. The boys all love learning swordplay. Some of the girls do too. They eat their midday meal. Lord Tyrion and I were just discussing having singers come to entertain them. I’d love to have a painter come in, teach them about keeping brushes clean and the like, and just let them make art. We’re working out other ideas.”

“I want to work with them,” Sansa repeated. “I could read to them and teach them needlepoint.”

“In the North? I think that’s a lovely idea.”

“No, I mean, here.”

Daenerys sighed. “I think we both know it’s not a good idea for you to be here. You will never recognize me as queen, and I can’t have that in the capitol. Not now. It’s too early in my reign to allow someone to do what you’ve been doing. It’s not a good idea at any point really. For one thing, it makes me look like a fool. And if others start doing it, following your example, they’ll wonder why I’m punishing them and not you.”

“Why did you stop me?”

“The question is really why haven’t I stopped you sooner?”

“No, I mean yesterday. When I almost said...what I was going to.”

Daenerys sighed deeply. “Because I love Jon and I love Arya and I didn’t want you to open wounds that already bleed enough. Because you helped me back to my room so I wouldn’t fall, that night after the feast. You tried to stop me from drinking the poison. You read to me when I was sick from it. You tried to send my messages even though you thought I was mad, and you helped me get ready to leave when we found out what was going to happen. You have it in you to be a good, kind, honorable person. But you cannot be that person here.”

“I saw a girl in the ballroom. One of the orphans. She’s not eating. She had burn scars all over her arm. She just...she reminded me a little of...of me. When I was younger. I just want to help, I swear it.”

Daenerys’ heart ached. She didn’t know any of the children were refusing to eat.

“You have to understand, I can’t possibly trust you.”

“What could I do with children?” 

“Get information from them. Turn them against me.”

“Turn them against you? They’re children!”

“Today’s children are tomorrow’s kingdom, and you’ve demonstrated in every way that you oppose my rule.”

“I didn’t know you.”

“You’ve known me for moons. That was an acceptable reason back when you were explaining why you and the North treated me as if I were there to crush you. It’s not acceptable now.”

“I mean I didn’t know how you would rule.”

“And you’ve learned so much in so few hours,” Dany said, her voice edged now with angry sarcasm. 

“I did. I went for a walk and the city doesn’t smell like a filthy privy. I saw the bakers giving bread to children. And I saw how you keep the orphans. Then I watched you on the throne today. I still want the North to be independent. But if you let me stay, I won’t try to undermine you again. I feel like if I don’t try to help this girl, I’ll never...” she hesitated. “I have to. She’ll slip through the cracks of everything. You can’t, you’re going to free slaves-“

“I’m not freeing them. I’m providing support with an alliance so they can free themselves.”

Sansa sighed. “You’ll be in Essos. I can help her. I know I can. I was her.”

Daenerys bit her lip, thinking. It was absolutely dangerous to have Sansa in the city. But she wanted to help this child; Daenerys could not bring herself to deny a child the opportunity to have some protector because of her own fears, as justified as those fears were.

“I’ll let you stay. If Jon agrees as well. But if anything like this happens again, I’ll have to exile you permanently. I hope you understand.” 

“I do. Thank you.” She nodded at Tyrion and fled the room. 

Daenerys sighed, drinking more mead.

“I hope that wasn’t a mistake,” she said.

“It was the kind thing to do,” Tyrion responded.

“How I wish we lived in a world where the kind thing to do could always be the right thing to do.”

*****************************

Sam felt more nervous, the closer they came to Oldtown. He knew his father. Had grown up with him. If the maesters refused to hand over the writings, there would be bloodshed. 

Father had asked him a little about his experience there, to Sam’s surprise, and he’d begun hesitantly, but became more eager as Father urged him to continue.

By the time they reached the Citadel, Sam was sweating despite the cold.

He and Dickon grabbed the crate of books and walked in behind Father, who approached the Maester who sat as guardian at a desk. 

“I’ve sent word ahead of our arrival,” he said brusquely. “I am Lord Randyll Tarly, these are my sons Samwell and Dickon. We are here to see Archmaester Ebrose.”

Sam felt his anxiety rise. They were asked to wait as the Maester informed Archmaester Ebrose of their presence, and then they were brought in.

“Samwell Tarly,” Ebrose greeted. “Look who’s returned.”

“I brought the books back,” he said, flushing.

Father dropped a small purse of silver onto the desk. “This is for loaning them,” he said.

Ebrose studied him. “Are you attempting to bribe me not to report on him for stealing books?”

“Don’t be a fool. I’ve heard fools are rare in these hallowed halls and I don’t like to be disappointed,” Father snapped. “Sam has copied the books. And brought them back, so there’s been no theft. The queen has hired scribes to copy other books, and wishes to enter an arrangement in which she gives you silver to borrow your books, and once they’ve been copied, they will be returned.”

“Which books does she want?”

“I’m assuming she wishes to start with law, stories, medicine. I have a list of some specific titles that were recommended. However we also require immediately the writings of a former Maester named Qyburn. For these writings, I have gold for you.”

Ebrose frowned. “The practices in Qyburn’s writings were obtained in a manner that was forbidden.”

“I’m not asking you to reinstate the man, I’m requesting the writings.” 

“He wished to become a greater healer than myself. And rather than work at it, he turned to dark experiments,” Ebrose told them.

“Whether you approve of it or not, his experiments were work. And it doesn’t take much, I imagine, to be a better healer than you.”

“Father,” Sam breathed in terror.

“If It were left to you, the Lord Commander of the Queensguard would be dead of grayscale.”

“Your son disobeyed the rules,” Ebrose argued.

“Yes, and because of that, a man is alive where he would be dead. It seems your rules should be reconsidered.”

“He stole books from us-“

“And you owe your life to that!” Father roared, and Ebrose shuddered. “I’m well aware you received a raven from Maester Wolkan about the white walkers. And what did you do? You mocked Brandon Stark, you invented some treachery on the part of our Queen, and you refused to send a message to have men sent North to deal with the threat. My sons and I, and the queen, battled those white walkers, while you all hid here like scared women and children. Women and children battled with them while you hid here like cowards. If my son hadn’t taken the initiative to bring those books, no books would do you a scrap of good, because you and everyone else would be walking corpses.”

“Surely you can understand how a ploy of the Dragon Queen to move armies North so she could attack the South, sounded more believable to us than a dead army and magic birds.”

“My son told you they were real. He saw them with his own eyes.” Father shook his head. “I’m not here to discuss your cowardice, I’m here for the writings. The queen was poisoned some time ago and Qyburn said there may be a way to save her. This would be in his writings.”

“I wouldn’t believe Qyburn-“

“You didn’t believe my son, and you didn’t believe Brandon Stark. I’ll use my own judgment.”

Ebrose sighed. “The writings are forbidden-“

“If we don’t get them, the queen will die. You may feel safe because you’ve suffered no consequence from your inaction almost causing the end of the world. But I swear to you, if she dies because of your inaction, there will be consequences.”

Ebrose stood. “Why don’t I show them to you? And then you can decide?”

Father nodded and followed him down the corridor. Samwell and Dickon walked behind them. 

The writings were hidden away in a small chained off alcove.

“Let’s start here,” Ebrose was saying, opening one book and leafing through it. “Here we are. This is a description detailing how a man’s insides differ when he’s alive, from when he is dead.”

Father took the book, frowning. “How did he find out what a man’s insides look like while he’s living?”

“He looked,” Ebrose said.

Sam shuddered. Qyburn had said his experiments were “bold.”

He hadn’t mentioned anything about them being on living people.

Father glanced up from the book. “The queen must find this out after the work is done. Not before.”

“Why not?” Dickon asked.

“She won’t allow the work if she knows. Once it’s done, it’s done.”

“You’re suggesting lying to her,” Ebrose said.

“I’m suggesting telling her the truth, but at a later time. She won’t be happy about it, but I’m certain she’ll allow me to explain my position and understand it.”

“And what of my position?” demanded Ebrose. “And your sons?”

“My sons are my responsibility. As for you, you can explain to her how I told you that if she finds out before the work is done, and she dies, I’ll come back here and pull your intestines out of your-“

“I get the message, there’s no reason to go any further.”

Father handed him the purse of gold, and then he, Dickon and Samwell carefully wrapped the books and scrolls and brought them to their carriage, packing them into a crate. 

This took three trips, but they had the writings.

They returned to the carriage and began to ride back to Kings Landing.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry, I’m late updating and it’s a short chapter! I was visiting family and holiday shopping all weekend! I’m aiming to go back to my 2x a week posting but some might be 1x a week because of holiday shopping, parties, visits, etc!   
As always, your comments and feedback are so appreciated, and thank you all so much for reading my fic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa starts her work, Willas and Jon have a conversation and Qyburn tells Dany what his plans had been when he served Cersei.  
I hope you like it! ❤️

Chapter Thirty Three

Sansa woke up early. It had been years since she’d woken up in Kings Landing feeling eager to face the day. She’d gone the evening before to Maegor’s Holdfast to pick up her clothing; all the people working with the orphans wore the same clothing. Sansa had been a little annoyed at first; she’d hoped to wear fine dresses, as she’d always loved, but she saw the logic of the plain and practical assigned clothing. It was to help the children feel secure. The woman who’d handed her the clothing had explained that the children had a distrust of “highborns”, as she called them. She was grey-haired and rotund, with a scowling face that only ever smiled at the children. Her name was Hayana, and she bristled when Sansa called her ‘my lady’. 

“I’m no lady,” she said. “I’ve worked these orphanages for years, and it’s been terrible, just terrible. Nobody cares about these kids. It’s been one long heartbreak, and all those lords and ladies ever cared about was their own position. Kindly never lump me with them.”

Sansa had taken her clothing and escaped quickly, hoping that the other people working with the children would be friendlier.

But as she pulled on her dress in the early morning light, she found she didn’t care. It didn’t matter if they were friendly, it didn’t matter if she had to wear plain dresses. All she could care about was the children, especially that little girl with her sad, lost face.

She rushed to Maegor’s Holdfast, and on her way, she saw Podrick. He was smiling, and walked along with her. 

“Queen Daenerys said you could stay?” He asked her.

Sansa nodded. She was nervous, because Daenerys had said she could stay IF Jon agreed. At one time, she could have been confident that of course he would agree, but now she couldn’t be sure. He was angry at her for her behavior toward Daenerys, and might insist on sending her home. 

She had decided to start her work. Surely if she began, he wouldn’t stop her.

She entered the kitchen first, helping to bring the food in as she had that first day. 

She saw the girl enter, and much as she had before, she sat at the window and stared out.

Sansa served the children who were eating, then took some of the fruits and brought them over to her. 

“Hello,” she greeted, and the girl turned to her. “I brought you some fruit.”

The girl looked at it. “That’s kind of you, my lady, but I’m not hungry.” 

Sansa sat down beside her, and she could see the child tense up. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“That’s what they all say,” she said, her voice barely audible, and then she glanced at Sansa, as if the words had come out of her mouth unwillingly, and now was afraid. 

“My name is Sansa,” she said, pretending she hadn’t heard her. 

The girl nodded politely. “Alissa,” she said. 

Sansa could see the girl’s polite little bow. So courteous. Sansa felt a strange pain, in her throat, in her hands, in her chest. Sansa remembered her own courtesies. As a child in the lion’s den, her courtesies had been her armor. 

“I’m happy to meet you, Alissa.” 

She thought again of her own childhood. Of what someone could have said to her to make her feel better.

Home, she thought. But she knew nothing of Alissa’s home, if she even had one.

She knew this might take time, but it didn’t matter to her. So long as she was allowed to stay, she would spend as much time as she had to. She felt deeply that there could be nothing in the world more important to her.

***************************

The crown was delicate, thin strips of silver, gold and Valyrian steel, braided loosely and fixed close to the center with small rubies and dragonglass, artfully designed and cut to slightly emulate dragon scales, and at it’s center, a larger ruby.

Jon stared at it, running his fingers along its shimmering circle.

“I imagine it’s nowhere near as lovely as her mother’s crown,” Lord Willas was saying. “But I’d already commissioned it before we spoke, and I wasn’t sure how long it would take for you to be able to procure it for her. Her coronation is today. But if you prefer, I don’t have to give it to her; you can give it to her.”

“I sent a message, and the man who owns it now, agreed to a price,” Jon told him. “I was going to go to him and buy it once we were in Essos, since the the man is in Braavos. This is beautiful. She does need a crown for her coronation. Why would you have me give it to her?”

“She loves you. I don’t want to sound...” he hesitated, as if looking for the right word. “Ridiculous?” He smiled then, flushing. “But I mean it when I say, there is nothing more important to me than her happiness...except perhaps her safety and health. But then, what are those if she’s unhappy?”

Jon sighed. I don’t deserve her, he thought miserably. Here was in front of him, a man who had clearly designed and commissioned a crown for Daenerys, with Valyrian steel, which had likely cost more than the rubies, gold, dragonglass and silver together, and he was willing to let Jon give it to her, because he thought it would make her happy. Jon hadn’t even been able to convince his people to treat her with respect; worse, he hadn’t even tried. She’d had to fight tooth and nail to earn their respect, and she had. Gods, he was so proud of her.

“Your Grace? What’s wrong?” Lord Willas asked. 

“I was just thinking...I don’t deserve her,” Jon said heavily.

Lord Willas frowned. “Do you love her?”

“I do.”

“And you want to be with her?”

“Desperately.”

“You won’t harm her. Lie to her. Betray her or be unfaithful.”

“No,” Jon said. Not anymore, he thought.

“Good. Those are the things in your power to decide. Your own actions. Your own commitment to her. But it’s not yours to decide whether you’re worthy or unworthy, deserving or undeserving of her.”

“No? Whose is it?”

“Hers,” Lord Willas said as if it were obvious.

“You’re a good man, my lord. You should give it to her. She knew you were having one made for her.”

Sarella Sand entered the room, smiling at Lord Willas. “Your grandmother told me Queen Daenerys’ crown arrived.”

Lord Willas grinned at her. “It did.”

She rushed over, glancing at Jon and nodding. “Your Grace,” she greeted. He nodded back, and watched as she looked at the crown.

“It came just in time,” she said. “And it’s perfect! She’s going to look so beautiful with this.” She laughed. “Of course, she would look beautiful in anything.”

“As would you, my lady,” Lord Willas said. 

She smiled at him affectionately. “Why, thank you,” she said. 

Jon felt suddenly as if he was intruding, and quickly excused himself.

Jon wanted to be happy about the stunning crown, wanted even more to be happy about Dany’s coronation. She’d wanted the throne so much for so long. 

He’d seen her that morning, before responding to Lord Willas’ request to speak to him. She’d been talking to her advisors about the ravens she’d received from people, about the councils she wanted to set up, made of smallfolk. The response had been more enthusiastic than she’d expected. She’d looked so happy. She’d also found out that there had been some larger harvests than expected from a few kingdoms, while others were suffering. She had looked around for Lord Willas, wanting to discuss whether they had enough to see to the needs of the struggling kingdoms, without leaving those that were doing well in a tight situation, as he was her Master of Coin.

There was significant progress being made on her glass gardens, too. 

Seeing her so happy had made Jon feel almost happy himself, and he didn’t want to dampen that. 

But he needed to speak with her urgently, and more, he needed to speak with Ser Jorah. He was captain of her Queensguard. He needed to speak with Grey Worm. To Qhono.

If the slavers wanted to have her killed, a coronation would be an opportune time to try. Jon had a terrible knot in his belly that tightened whenever he thought about it, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

He knew she was speaking with Qyburn about the pain medicine, and Qyburn wanted to make an attempt at convincing her to have the procedure completed before the war in Essos. 

Jon walked to Bran’s room, hoping for some information; he knocked on his door, then opened it-only to find Bran shirtless in bed. 

“Jon! What are you doing here?” 

The blankets covering Bran seemed to move, then suddenly Meera’s head poked out from under them. 

“Your Grace,” she managed, flushing.

“Gods! I’m sorry. I’ll come back.”

He shut the door, rushing away and making a mental note that indeed Bran was no longer a boy.

He walked quickly down the hall, still reeling over what he’d seen. 

He found Ser Jorah, Qhono and Grey Worm in the council chambers, planning security measures for Daenerys’ coronation. He shared his fears with them, and they fell into discussion.

******************************

Daenerys sat across from Qyburn, listening as he described the procedure he had in mind to save her.

“I know how it sounds,” he finished. “And I can certainly understand your suspicion. But if it works, it will save your life.”

“You realize I can’t allow you to be the one to do it,” she said. 

“Of course. I was Hand of the Queen and Master of Whispers to your enemy. Only a few moons ago, I was plotting your downfall. I wouldn’t expect you to allow me to put a knife in you and start cutting away at your insides.”

She shuddered. “I’m not especially eager to have anyone else do it, either, if I’m being honest.”

“Understandable. But the parts of you that are damaged and bleeding must be removed. I’m having a bit of trepidation myself, only because with another person, cauterization of wounds, boiling wine, any number of treatments that involve burning, would be crucial, but will have no effect on you.”

She nodded, frowning. “The pain medicine you’ve given me has been of tremendous value.”

“I’m glad of it, Your Grace. But you must remember what I told you. If you cannot feel any pain, you won’t know if something is wrong. And it’s addictive. You may come to depend on it too much in the future.”

“If your plan works and I have a future, I’ll stop taking it. I just cannot be dealing with that kind of pain while I’m at war.”

“And there’s nothing I can say to change your mind about going before the procedure?”

“No. If the procedure fails and I die, I need to make sure this war is won. I cannot allow the people I’ve served as queen, to be murdered or enslaved again. If the masters take back the cities, we’ll be right back where we started. If we win this war, it will be over. No one can stand against the Iron Bank. If I’m to lose my life, I want to make certain it’s not in vain.”

“I thought you would say that. But I had to try.”

“I appreciate it. Especially since it’s as you said, we were enemies only a few moons ago. To try to save the life of someone you hate, because you’re dedicated to saving lives...there’s a nobility in that.”

“I never hated you, Your Grace. It wasn’t personal. I served Cersei. And I was excited in a way, because of the challenge.”

“Challenge?”

“Of course. An enemy who has three dragons. An enemy who has the largest army in the world. An enemy who achieved these things on her own, not through any kind of inheritance. Your people weren’t loyal to an institution. They were loyal to you. There was no way to beat you at war. Cersei had wanted to borrow more coin and hire a sellsword army. But of course you figured out that Highgarden was at risk. You figured out much of our plans. Either way, though, I knew some sellsword army was not going to be a match for dragons. My plans were much more subtle than any attempt to beat you in battle.”

“What were your plans?”

Qyburn smiled faintly. “It doesn’t matter. They didn’t work, because you were ahead of us. Besides, I’m not sure talking to the queen about my long term master plan to bring her down, is an ideal way to ingratiate myself.”

“I’m curious. I know it was you who designed the scorpions.”

“Yes. I thought if we could take down your dragons it would certainly help win the war. But truly, for me, the battles I would be fighting, were never against you, they were against Tyrion and Varys. They were your Hand and your Master of Whispers, and were long considered the best in the game.”

“The game,” she murmured with a sigh.

“But they made several mistakes. The first being overconfidence. They underestimated Cersei and considered me to be...not even a factor. It worked well in my favor. But of course your foresight obliterated my plans completely. I underestimated your intelligence, and that was my mistake.”

It wasn’t foresight, it was hindsight, Daenerys thought. Not intelligence but a vision.

“What were your plans for my downfall?” She asked again.

Qyburn hesitated. “I’ll tell you,” he said with a sigh. “But try to withhold judgement.”

She laughed then, lightly. “All right.”

“Varys made one crucial mistake early on. He assumed his little birds in Kings Landing were still loyal to him. They weren’t. They were mine. I had gotten word that you were going to attack Casterly Rock. We knew exactly when Yara Greyjoy left Dragonstone for Sunspear. The plan was to have Euron Greyjoy attack his niece’s fleet, and Cersei’s armies would have taken Highgarden. It was a matter of ensuring I received word of your movements, while making certain that Varys was given misinformation. It would have cost you Dorne, the Iron Islands and the Reach, while sowing mistrust between yourself and your advisors.”

“That’s exactly what would have happened,” she said, her voice faint.

“And then Highgarden’s wealth would have paid the Iron Bank. Cersei could hire an army, and I could build more scorpions. But then you never attacked Casterly Rock, and you cleared Highgarden and the Reach. You destroyed Euron Greyjoy’s fleet.”

“What would have been your plan after? You said you couldn’t beat me in war. What was next?”

“Well, the Northern conflict would have presented an excellent opportunity as well. We expected that would cut your armies. And then when I found out about Jon Snow’s parentage-“

“How did you find out about that?”

“Varys’ little birds are mine. Not his. I’ve known for some time. After what the Faith Militant had done to Queen Cersei, she told me she wanted whispers from Dorne, from Highgarden, from the North. I knew about the Great War that was to come, and followed its progress as best I could. Had you lost your allies against Cersei, diminished your armies in the North, and mistrusted your advisors, your advisors would panic. Varys has always been a bit of a Targaryen loyalist. If he was thinking you didn’t trust him, and suddenly was presented with a male Targaryen, it would only be a matter of time before he turned on you.”

Daenerys felt a chill settle between her shoulder blades. “Go on.”

“Well, Jon Snow might be a more desirable option to Varys anyway. The King in the North has many talents and good qualities, but political acumen is not among them. He’s too honorable. My understanding is that he could barely control his own kingdom. Varys would consider him more tractable, more malleable than you. He would inevitably plot against you.”

Daenerys was staring at him intently. “Continue, please.”

“Much like myself, he would know you can’t be beaten in battle. And as his own mistakes mounted, your estimation of him would begin to lower. If you hadn’t destroyed Euron’s fleet, we could have armed every ship with scorpions and have him ambush you. Cersei poisoned you out of desperation, because of the destruction of our plan. But my information was that you were planning to go back to Dragonstone that day. If I had my birds tell Varys that the fleet was still at Kings Landing, you would never have expected an attack. We could have taken you out right then. But even if not, we could have smashed what little fleet you had, capture some of your people. This would cause further dissent between yourself and your advisors.”

“You had a long term plan.”

“I had quite a few plans, and contingencies. You kept cutting them off at the knee.”

“What if you didn’t take me out in the ambush? What then?”

“In an unexpected attack, I imagine it wouldn’t be difficult to kill one of your dragons, if not all three. It would create a perfect storm. Your father at one time, was a...not a great king, but a good king. Kind, generous. He was captured and held prisoner for some time, and was never the same after. Killing even one of your dragons would have been a catalyst to break down the relationship between yourself and your advisors. Varys watched your father descend into madness. You would be distraught and mistrustful, you would appear paranoid. Of course you would think your advisors were plotting against you. How could you not? And then Varys...” He hesitated. 

“Go on,” she said.

“You...look a little feverish, Your Grace. We can continue this another-“

“I will hear it now,” she said.

“All right. As you know, Cersei planned the detonation of wildfire under the Sept. Many innocent people died in the explosion. She told everyone it was an accident.”

“Did anyone believe that?”

“Of course not. But the people of Kings Landing pretended to believe it. They had to. There was nowhere else they could go. The city provided work, and the rest of the continent was torn by war and bandits and famine. And there was a kind of safety in the lie. If she lied to them, it meant that she felt some need to appease them. They could tell themselves that they were safe. They’d been crushed for years. It would take quite an act to make people rise against a queen.”

“And you...planned for me to commit such an act.”

“Yes. If all else failed. The only way to defeat an enemy such as yourself is to pit you against everyone. Turn your own people against you or kill them. Killing even one of your dragons, as I said, would be enough from the emotional standpoint. You consider them your children. It’s an effective strategy against any enemy, killing their children. It would only be a matter of time before Varys deliberately acted against you. I imagine he’d attempt to murder you. I didn’t even know about Jon Snow when I first laid my plans but it certainly would have added an extra layer of motivation for him.”

“You figured he’d poison me and I’d die.”

“Ideally.”

“And then how would you have kept Cersei on the throne instead of Jon?”

Qyburn laughed. “Jon wouldn’t fight Cersei for the throne, and it would have been impossible to push his claim. Dorne would have fought against him, and all Cersei’s enemies in Dorne would have been obliterated by Euron Greyjoy. That annulment isn’t worth the paper it’s written upon and nobody would accept a second marriage. It would anger the Septons and those who follow the old gods. Aerys took Rhaegar’s children out of succession. The Targaryens were defeated. The entire realm was in tatters. Jon Snow would not waste precious resources on a war for a throne. He would go back to his frozen wasteland and that would be that. The North would likely push for independence and Cersei would have to agree for a time. Warring with the North in winter is among the worst tactical decisions anyone could make. But after the winter and it’s ramifications wiped a good portion of the Northerners out, and spring came, it might not be as difficult to take it back.”

“What if Varys was unsuccessful poisoning me?” 

“Varys would not try to poison you himself. He would use his little birds. My little birds. I’d let him try. But of course you’ve had people try before. A child would likely be afraid trying to murder a queen. You’d notice that. If Varys was unsuccessful, and you found out, what would you have done?”

“I’d have burned him alive.”

“Yes. You would. You are ruthless with enemies and you would begin to see enemies everywhere. But I’ve studied you, Your Grace. Plotting someone’s downfall requires much study. You’d kill Varys, and that would lead to your people thinking you were coming apart. They would start to believe you might harm innocents, even if you wouldn’t.”

“Maybe I would,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe. One never truly knows what they are capable of. But...I truly hoped it wouldn’t come to it. It was dangerous. But if it did, then, yes. I would have needed for you to harm innocents.”

She shuddered. “And that was your plan? To have me harm innocents.”

“Ultimately. If everything failed. You would not perceive Varys as innocent. But your advisors would be afraid once you killed him. They would be begging you not to harm civilians, not to burn the city. It would plant the seeds in your head.”

“And then I would burn the city,” she urged. “That was your ultimate plan.”

“It was.”

“That’s a lot of weight you put into something you weren’t sure about. It’s betting a lot on my being the type of person who would harm innocents. You must have been fairly sure I would.”

“Oh, no, Your Grace. I’d have bet everything on the premise that you wouldn’t.”

You’d have lost, Daenerys thought.

“It sounds like you believed I would. Your ultimate plan was to have me do so, if all else failed.”

“My ultimate plan was to make you do so, if all else failed. Once Varys was killed, it would be far easier for me to use the little bird he used, to poison you. Even little birds fear the consequences of regicide. My bird wouldn’t be afraid if I could assure the child that the poison wouldn’t kill you. And Varys’ death would show that my plan was going as it should. It would give the child confidence. With your poisoner dead and the child who brought you food no longer looked terrified, you’d eat it.”

“Why even poison me, if it wasn’t going to kill me?”

“It’s as I said, my plan was contingent on you not being willing to harm an innocent. You’d kill Varys for sending a child to kill you, but you wouldn’t kill the child. If the child no longer looked afraid, you’d eat what you were given. So if the attempt to poison you to kill you failed, we’d have to poison you with a different aim.”

“A different aim...” she repeated.

“Are you familiar with the effects of basilisk blood? What it does, is...Your Grace, are you all right?”

Daenerys had stood, and she was shaking all over. “I need you to leave,” she growled.

The guards moved closer, and Qyburn stood. “You’re upset now. This is why I didn’t want to-“

“Leave,” she repeated.

The guards walked with Qyburn out of the room. 

She sat down, still shaking, and poured herself a glass of mead. 

Outplayed, she thought. She and all her advisors had been utterly outplayed.


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa proceeds with her plans, Randyll Tarly returns ahead of his sons, And then a coronation, a feast, and someone always has to mess up Dany’s feasts but at least it wasn’t Sansa this time, and all is well, mostly! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! :-)
> 
> EDIT: thank you, Stevepm68, for the technical detail, you ROCK! I changed ‘arrow’ to ‘bolt’. :-)

Chapter Thirty Four

Sansa had managed to convince Alissa to eat a plum during the midday meal, and it was satisfying, though she wished it was more. 

The morning had gone quickly, and what Daenerys had told her was true; all the children were being taught to read, and some of the adults who worked with them as well. 

Sansa asked Hayana about it. The woman had shrugged. 

“The queen wants everyone to learn how to read. She said not to force anyone but to offer little gifts or incentives to get them to do it.”

Some knights came in to teach the boys swordplay, and the girls who wanted to learn were being taught as well. 

Sansa watched them. She thought about Arya, wondering if she would be interested in teaching them. The knights had clearly been ordered to teach, and they treated the girls somewhat condescendingly. Sansa decided she would ask Ser Brienne, too.

The children were in high spirits, chattering about a feast. Hayana explained that Daenerys would be providing the children with a feast that evening. 

“Apparently she thinks if she has a feast, everyone has to have a feast.”

Sansa frowned. She’d forgotten about the feast, and the coronation as well. 

“You don’t seem to approve,” Sansa noted.

“It’s wasteful. These children don’t need lamprey pies and candied plums or any of that nonsense. It’s better for them to have basic food for a year, than fancy food for a night, just to starve when the crown runs out of money.”

“The queen is having glass gardens built. The new orphanages will have them. There will be food.”

“So she says. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I’ve seen the work,” Sansa said. “They’re building them as we speak.”

Hayana sighed. “You’re young. When you’ve been around as long as I have, you’ll see how it is. Even the children know better not to believe what they’re told by any highborn, especially a king or queen.”

She walked away and Sansa stood in silence. She could hardly argue with the woman, Sansa herself had been stripped of her title and almost exiled for expressing the same thoughts. At least Hayana wasn’t announcing them at feasts or councils.

The children at any rate were excited. The prospect of a feast was a joyful one to most of them. 

Sansa wanted to go sit with Alissa, who was watching the other children but not playing with them. But she knew she was also there to serve all the children. If only she knew what Alissa liked, she could perhaps frame games or story times around that.

Then at the midday meal, she’d brought Alissa fruit, and urged her to take some, and she’d taken a plum and eaten it slowly. 

At that point, people had come in with flowers and candles and paper lanterns to get the ballroom ready for the feast. 

Hayana was walking around barking orders at people. She saw Sansa, and turned to her. 

“Are you serving at the feast?”

“I...I’m not sure.”

“Well, find out and let me know. I’m not looking to waste time.”

“Are the children attending the coronation?”

Hayana snorted. “Fortunately the queen knows that the children are not going to be interested in watching yet another queen get a fancy circlet dropped on her head that could have fed them for a year. Find out if you’re serving tonight, and let me know. You can go take your break now.”

“My...what?”

“The queen insists everyone needs to take a break. You have an hour.”

Sansa started to walk to her room, then decided to talk to Jon. She had no idea who she was supposed to ask whether she was serving the children for the feast. 

She wondered if Daenerys was aware that Hayana didn’t trust her. She didn’t want to cause trouble for the woman, but if she was telling this to the children, Sansa didn’t want Daenerys to think it was her and banish her. 

Jon was angry, she could see it as soon as she entered his room.

“Are you alright?”

He sighed. “I’m alright. The Northerners still haven’t decided what they’re doing, they’re still here in the city. It’s disrespectful if they don’t attend the coronation now, because they’re here.” He noticed her dress then and frowned. 

“This is what we wear to work with the orphans.”

“Sansa, I told you, Daenerys-“

“She said I could stay and work with them if you say it’s all right and I stop making trouble,” she said quickly.

“How can I believe you? You keep giving your word and breaking it.”

“Jon, I have to help this girl. Her name is Alissa, I got her to eat a plum today-“

“You already started? Without asking me first.”

“Jon, I need to do this!”

“Why can’t you bring the girl North?” He demanded.

“Are you out of your mind?” Sansa shot back, angrily. “She’s terrified, I can’t just bring her somewhere else right away! It would add to her trauma.”

“And you couldn’t ask me first?”

“I didn’t see why you would refuse, Daenerys said it was all right with her if it was all right with you. She was supposed to talk to you.”

“Her coronation is today, and she’s leaving in a few days to go into another war, she’s dying...”

On this, Sansa could hear Jon’s voice grow thick, hoarse. 

“She might not die,” Sansa said gently. “And even if she does, the orphans will still need care.”

“There are Northern orphans, Sansa. Why this girl?”

“She reminds me of...of me. When I was young. And besides, if I’m eventually going to help Northern orphans, I need to see what they’re doing here. Please, Jon.”

“No. I’m sorry, Sansa. You’ve broken your word too many times. You endangered her. You endangered her reign. You’ve put her in a position of either-“

“Jon, I understand! I know I was wrong. I was afraid. But this girl...I have to help her.”

“You were all about the North before. What of Northern orphans?”

“I told you, I can learn how to help them by being here.”

“Sansa. No.”

“You have no right to do this! Daenerys said it was all right if you-“

“I will not let you endanger her!” Jon roared.

“I’m not endangering her! All I’m doing is helping with the children! That’s it! I’m not doing anything wrong.”

Jon sighed. “And what of the coronation?”

“I’ll be with the orphans. And I can help serve at the feast-“

“You are not going to Dany’s feast,” Jon said sharply. 

“Not her feast, the one she’s having for the orphans. I’ll be out of everyone’s way. And then if anyone sees me, I’ll be running around in serving clothes. I’ll look like I’m being punished. Isn’t that what you wanted? What she wanted? To make sure people know that disrespect will be punished?”

“But you’re getting exactly what you wanted.”

“Exactly what I wanted was my title and an independent North with no fear of starvation. That changed when I met Alissa. Please, Jon. She’s a child. A child I know I can help.”

Jon nodded. “All right. But if this is another ploy to embarrass or undermine her-“

“It isn’t, I swear.”

Jon agreed and she rushed back, grabbed some of the bread and cheese left over from the platters left out for the other workers, and assured Hayana that she would be serving for the feast.

*****************************

Tyrion had been enjoying the undercurrent of excitement running through the halls and rooms of the Red Keep. 

Daenerys’ coronation was today. The day they had worked toward, together, for so long, was finally here. She would be crowned, and there would be a feast. Much like the last feast, Daenerys had insisted that the smallfolk should be given a feast as well, and there was a general attitude of happiness around the entire Keep. 

Jaime had told him he intended to ask Daenerys if he and Ser Brienne might announce their engagement at this feast, since things had gone so awry at the last one. 

Tyrion thought that was an extremely good idea; it had not escaped his notice that Ser Brienne had been getting suddenly nauseated in the middle of conversations, quite often. Often enough that it was not just some passing illness. She’d also taken to wearing different armor; a supple leather, so that only a close inspection revealed a slight fullness at her belly. Baby Joanna would have a little sibling before long. 

Tyrion had intended to attempt a conversation with Jon about Daenerys legitimizing him as she had asked him to, but when Tyrion went to Jon’s quarters, he and Sansa were yelling behind Jon’s door.

He passed the council chambers where her guards were in fierce debate about where they would be placed around her to best protect her. 

Lord Randyll Tarly had returned with a small crate. Tyrion looked around him curiously.

“Didn’t you leave here with two sons and a cart?”

“I did, but we were moving too slowly. We passed some of our men from the Reach, bringing a late harvest to the capitol. My sons are traveling with them. You can’t ride fast with a cart. Samwell pored through the writings to find the ones most likely to save the queen, and I rode ahead with them. I hoped if I got here before she left, she might consider having the procedure done first.”

“I think that’s unlikely, but it’s worth a try. I know she was meeting with Qyburn today and he was going to attempt convincing her as well. But you’re here just in time for her coronation, it’s today.” Tyrion saw a faint smile tug at the corners of Lord Tarly’s mouth. “Her guards are all arguing about her security for it. King Jon thinks there might be an attempt made on her life. I’m not sure if-“ 

Lord Tarly’s eyes narrowed, and he cut Tyrion off. “Where are they? Her guards?”

“In the council chambers.”

He shoved the crate into Lord Tyrion’s arms. 

“Bring this to the queen. I’m going to help them plan.”

He strode down the hall toward the council chambers, and Tyrion walked to Daenerys’ rooms. He knocked on her door, and heard her voice call from inside to enter.

He walked in, smiling. “Lord Tarly brought some of the writings, these are the ones most likely...” he broke off. “Are you all right?”

Daenerys was sitting at her table, staring out the window. She was wearing a robe and holding a goblet, and her face was pale. She looked as though she may have been crying; tears stained her face but there was no redness around her eyes. Her face turned toward his, but her expression didn’t change. 

“I’m...I’m all right. We were all outplayed.”

“Outplayed? Your coronation is today. I think you did the outplaying.”

“This time. But it could happen again. And it doesn’t matter what I do. No matter how I try to stop it. It can happen again, any time.”

“Is this about Jon?” Tyrion asked, sitting down. 

She sighed deeply. “It’s about everyone. Me especially.”

Tyrion poured himself some wine. “What are we talking about?”

“Qyburn. He had a plan the whole time.”

“Well...” Tyrion frowned. “His writings are here. Others will look at them to be certain the ideas are sound.”

“Yes. And I have no doubt they are. That’s the oddest thing about it.”

“I suppose it is odd,” Tyrion agreed cautiously. “Daenerys, what happened?”

“He told me his plan. What his plan had been. For my downfall.”

“That sounds like a depressing conversation that you really should not have had on the day of your coronation.”

She looked at him for a moment, then started laughing. The sound was so sudden and so rich, that it was contagious, and Tyrion found himself laughing as well.

“Or maybe today was the best time,” she said. 

“What was his plan?”

“I need to remember what it smelled like,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard his question, her eyes wandering back over the sea. “I didn’t think anything of it. It was different, but I was so hungry. I hadn’t eaten in days, really, and it smelled so good...but I have to remember always.”

“Remember what what smelled like?”

“Basilisk blood.”

Tyrion frowned. “I would strongly recommend never trying it. I wouldn’t advise anyone to try it, truly. But you particularly.”

She laughed again, lightly. “I have no intention of trying it again, that’s why I need to remember...maybe I’m imagining it...that the meat smelled different.”

Tyrion looked at her. “I’ve read that it gives meat a savory smell when it’s cooked. You’ve tried it?”

“I have reason to believe I did.”

“When? If this was given to you today, we need to act immediately. Get you away from other people and especially away from Drogon. All three dragons, really.” 

“Not today.”

“Good,” he said, relieved. “When?”

“In another life.”

“In your vision?”

“Maybe. I have no way to know for certain.”

“You could ask Bran.”

She nodded. “I could ask Bran,” she repeated.

“What makes you think you had it in this other life?”

“Qyburn told me it was his plan. His end game. If he was not able to have me killed. He would have me poisoned with it.”

“Why? That would be the worst thing anyone could do. You have dragons. You’d go on a murderous rampage.”

“I only had one dragon at the time.”

“One is enough.”

She shuddered. “Yes. One was enough.”

“Why would he do that?”

“To make me commit an atrocity. To make me harm innocents. He thought it would make any supporters I had left, turn on me. And the people as well. I would be murdered and Cersei...I suppose he thought that he could escape my rampage with her.”

“I would think she would be the first in your line of fire.”

“Of course. But that would be rational...as rational as war and revenge can be. Basilisk blood doesn’t make a person rational. It destroys rational thought entirely.”

Tyrion was staring at her, and then a wave of horror hit him. “You think you were poisoned in your vision. That’s why you burned the city.”

“I think it’s likely. But I’ll have to ask Bran to know for sure. But Qyburn described his plan to me, and in that vision...everything happened just as he intended it to. Varys...I wonder why Varys hasn’t turned on me now.”

“Why would he?”

“For Jon.”

“Jon doesn’t want the throne.”

“He didn’t then either.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see the vision. But if you were poisoned...what happened after it wore off?”

“It didn’t. The effects were starting to fade a little. I wasn’t still rampaging. Just...planning to take over the world,” she said, with a faint bitter smile. 

“And then...Jon and I conspired to murder you.”

She nodded, drinking her wine. “I think it’s best Jon doesn’t know. It will only upset him.”

“Why did you keep me on as Hand after your dream?”

“I hoped that my impression of you in Essos was the true one, and if I made different choices...things could change.”

Tyrion nodded. He felt sick to his stomach. He wished he could remember the details of her vision. He knew only that he had been the worst thing to ever happen to her. 

“I’m sorry...for what I did in that life. I wish I remembered it.”

She sighed again, lightly. “No, you don’t.”

She stood, finishing her wine and walking across the room where her dress was ready. 

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No. Maybe. I have to be careful. So careful. There are too many people who care much less about individual lives than gaining power. Whatever their reasons, they’re dangerous. Too easily I let it happen.”

“Let it happen?”

“I fell apart, Tyrion. I should have known, in a nest of enemies, not to eat what I was given. I allowed my grief to turn into carelessness. It was so stupid. I was so suspicious by then, and yet it never even crossed my mind.”

“I should never have been your enemy,” Tyrion said quietly. 

“No. But everyone always chooses their family. And I don’t have family. Except my children.”

“And Jon.”

“Jon will always choose his Stark family.”

“Not anymore,” Tyrion told her. “And certainly not if it’s them making him choose.”

Missandei came into the room to help Daenerys dress, and Tyrion excused himself. 

He walked directly to Bran’s room, knocking hard on the door. 

He entered as bidden, and sat down heavily. 

“I’ve just come from Daenerys’ chambers,” he said. “She told me something very disturbing, from her vision. I wondered if you could shed some light on it.”

“What is it?”

“She said Qyburn’s plan, if they couldn’t kill her, was to poison her with basilisk blood.” 

Bran’s eyes grew distant, remaining thus for some time before returning to Tyrion’s face. 

“He had a little girl do it,” Bran said. 

Tyrion dropped into a chair, his head into his hands. 

“And I convinced Jon to murder her.”

“None of it happened. Not now,” Bran said. “You’ve shown yourself to be loyal. She will be crowned today. You need not feel so terrible. It’s all a dream now, a dream you are fortunate not to remember.”

Tyrion shook his head. Bran may be right, it may be all a dream now. But Daenerys was right, too. It could happen again.

“She doesn’t want Jon to know. She said it would only upset him.”

“I think it might do more than upset him. She was pregnant. And you may have persuaded him, but it was he who did the deed.”

“She was pregnant? Did I know?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Gods, I hope not. I don’t think I can stand to hate myself much more than I already do.”

“It never happened,” Bran reminded him. “I have some blame in all of it too. More than some. I never warned her about the ambush. I never warned her about Varys poisoning her or any of what Qyburn was doing.”

“Did you know?”

“No. I didn’t think to look. And I only found out about Qyburn just now, today. Only because of what you told me. This is part of the problem. Seeing everything. Too much happens and I don’t know where I should focus. I wasn’t ready when I became the Three Eyed Raven. I don’t know how to hone in on what we need.”

“I don’t think you can be blamed then.”

“I need to get better. More focused.”

“I liked what you said, about working with Varys. Varys can’t see what you can. But he can tell you where to look.”

“Yes. Daenerys had her people plant a Weirwood tree for me in the Godswood here. For when I visit.”

“That’s good.”

“It is. If Meera agrees, we may spend more time here than we’d originally planned. I’ve felt...without purpose. Since I became the Three Eyed Raven. Everything became about the Night King. And once he was gone, I felt lost. In that other life, you nominated me to be the next king.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. And I wonder sometimes how things were after.”

“You can’t see it?”

“Too much of it could have gone too many ways. I still wasn’t very focused. All I wanted was to find Drogon. He took Daenerys’s body to Volantis. And after that..it all just fades. The thread breaks shortly after she died.”

“Well...it was her vision.”

“Yes.”

“Why did he take her to Volantis?”

Bran smiled faintly. “There’s no way to know for certain. But...we can talk another time about that.”

“I could see Valyria. Her ancestral home. Or Braavos, where that house she loves so much is, with the red door and the lemon tree. But what’s in Volantis?”

“The largest Red Temple in the world.”

“Red Temple? She’s not a follower of R’hllor.”

“No. But the Red Priests and Priestesses there call her queen.”

“So...he brought her there for funeral services?”

“Funeral services are not the only things they can do with the dead.”

Tyrion felt a sudden chill. “You don’t think...”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s all another life.”

Tyrion nodded. He stood. “I should dress for her coronation.”

He walked back to his room, digesting all the information the morning had thrown at him. 

*****************************

Daenerys was wearing her family’s colors. A black dress with red dragons embroidered over it. Missandei had put extra detail into her braids. This was the victory of victories, the one thing she’d wanted, for so long that she could hardly remember the time before she wanted it. When she’d thought her brother Viserys would have it. It was a far off, distant memory. 

She entered the hall, walked past the crowd, in all their finery. How beautiful they looked, but what made her truly happy was that the people who had gathered did not look afraid. There was no anger or rancor on their faces. They were happy too. Their happiness in her being crowned, made her own happiness real to her. She hadn’t conquered them or forced them into accepting her reign. They wanted her there.

She had asked a Septon to perform the ceremony, of course. She stood before the throne, facing the people, as the Septon asked the Seven to guide her, to protect her.

He laid the crown over her braids-she had almost wept when Willas had shown it to her, moments before it was time to go; it was so beautiful. 

The Septon called, “Long may she reign.”

The crowd called back, “Long may she reign.”

And she smiled at them. She felt her entire being, filled with love for them.

Long may I reign, she thought. She knew she might not reign long. But if she reigned well in that time, perhaps the annals of history would be kind to her. She would be remembered well. Her mark in the books of her family would be a good one, she hoped. 

No Mad Queen, following the brutal fiery footsteps of her father. 

She sat on the throne, breathing deeply. 

Everything you ever wanted, since you were old enough to want anything, Tyrion’s voice echoed in her head.

She’d expected the throne to be uncomfortable, the sharp blades piercing at her tender skin. 

But it felt smooth and strong, built not for comfort but support, and she felt supported.

She’d expected a crown to feel heavy on her head, she’d never worn one before. But it felt light, as if she’d worn it for years.

Soon there would be more war. More death. Soon her damaged organs would bleed out. 

But this...this was a perfect moment in her life, and damn if she wasn’t going to savor it. 

*****************************

Jon entered the great hall where the feast was taking place, smiling as he saw Daenerys, sitting at her high table with her advisors, her crown resting on her braids as if it had been made for her; but of course it had, he remembered. 

Daenerys had set up his own table at a central place, to recognize that he was a king. She smiled when she saw him. He smiled back, and wished fervently that he could be at her side. He wanted to marry her. To be hers completely, to make her his own. 

Her guards stood close to her. This settled some of the anxiety he’d felt, but not entirely. He hated that he couldn’t just enjoy the moment. Enjoy her otherworldly beauty, her tremendous charisma that changed the energy of any room she entered. She was a physically small woman, diminutive and almost fragile. But her energy was larger than life. She was delicate, but not like a babe or a flower; she was delicate like wildfire.

The people were eating, drinking, celebrating. How wonderful, Jon thought, to be able to celebrate a coronation and look to a better future. 

A good world, her soft, sweet voice echoed in his head. 

Ser Jaime Lannister stood up and announced that he and Ser Brienne of Tarth were betrothed, and cheers met the announcement. 

Jon was happy for them. But he envied them, too. He wanted to stand beside her and announce their own betrothal. 

The people watched her with such affection, such admiration, and Jon was happy to see it. She deserved it, and had been denied it in that other life. 

He couldn’t relax. He kept glancing at the doorways, at the upper mezzanines. 

And as he saw something, a movement that lit his instincts, he saw Arya tense up as well, and Bran leaned close to him.

“That man with the brown cowl...shouldn’t be here,” Bran said. 

Jon and Arya glanced at each other and started moving toward the man. 

Daenerys stood, as she was urged to make a speech. Jon felt his fear turn into rage that someone would harm her, try to kill her, try to rob the world of that fire in her.

The man in the cowl was aiming a crossbow he’d hidden in the folds of his robe. 

“Dany, get down!” Jon fairly screamed at her, as he and Arya rushed the assassin; he loosed a bolt, and Jon dove at him. Screams split the air. Jon was beating the man, pounding all his rage into his face.

“She’ll want him alive,” Arya’s voice cut through his blind fury. 

He fell back and guards were all around, ready to drag the assassin to the cells. Grey Worm, Captain Naharis, Ser Jorah and Lord Tarly stood with narrowed eyes, glittering with rage, and Jon knew the man was in for the punishment he deserved.

Jon turned, afraid to look, dreading to see where the arrow had landed. 

Daenerys was pale, but otherwise would seem well, except for the bolt lodged between her shoulder and clavicle. Jon ran to her side. 

“Dany,” he breathed. 

“I’m all right,” she assured him. “Thank you. For the warning. If I hadn’t started to get down when you told me, this damn arrow would have landed lower.”

Jon looked again; it would have speared into her heart, he thought. 

“You have to see a Maester,” Tyrion ordered her.

“Of course,” she said, smiling warmly at him and patting his hand lightly. She stood, and the chaotic noise throughout the room went still, silent. She was smiling at them now, at her people. “If there is to be no further nonsense, I’d like to finish what I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted.”

There was a nervous laugh, and Dany continued her speech. 

Ser Jorah returned with Lord Tarly, Captain Naharis and Grey Worm, and they watched her speaking. 

Jon was half listening to her, standing by her side and scanning the room. She was telling them about how they, the people, were the very lifeblood of the kingdoms. How they all needed to build a better world together. How in all these years, they’ve been enemies to each other, and then they’d been confronted by the enemy of life itself.

She mentioned Jon, the King in the North. How he’d gathered them together to fight that enemy.

And now their enemies here were vanquished, and had only starvation, ignorance, to fight now; and if they could vanquish such enemies as they had, surely they could vanquish these.

She was speaking, he could hear her. Alive, she’s alive...Gods, she’s so alive, he thought. Perhaps the most alive person he’d ever known. 

It was surreal to watch her smooth and smiling speech, her chin lifted and her eyes fierce, with that bolt sticking out of her. He could see on the faces in the room, the fear for her. Lord Tarly’s expression made Jon almost start laughing. It was awe, quite simply. 

She sat down after her speech and thunderous cheering met her words.

“Now?” Tyrion asked. “Will you go to the maester now?”

She laughed. “I can never get through a feast in peace, can I? I’ve never even tried half these foods here. I was looking forward to eating.”

She stood again. “Please excuse me. I will return.” She walked out of the great hall and Jon walked beside her, followed by guards and advisors.

They gathered in a small room where Maester Lomys sat down in front of her. “I can give you milk of the poppy,” he was saying.

“If I take milk of the poppy I’ll sleep, and miss the feast,” she pointed out. “Anyway, I’m already on medicine for pain. It’s absolutely effective. All I’m feeling is an ache. A bit of a strain.” She moved her arm around to demonstrate. “If I wasn’t so angry at Qyburn right now, I could hug the man. Is there a way to get the arrow out without ruining my dress?”

Maester Lomys cut away the edges of the bolt so they could remove the dress. Then carefully pulled the arrow from her. 

She started bleeding, and her face paled again. “We should have left the damn thing in until after the feast,” she said, watching the blood pouring from the wound, and the maester pressed against it, to staunch the flow. 

Dany was drifting into unconsciousness. “Wake me in an hour,” she murmured. “I don’t want to miss the whole thing.”

“I think we should just let her rest,” Maester Lomys said, frowning.

“We’ll try to wake her,” Jon said firmly. “And see what happens.”

Jon watched Maester Lomys stitch the wounds, murmuring about how this would scar and she was lucky the arrow didn’t hit any arteries, and this could cause muscle damage, and what in seven hells was in that pain medicine, anyway?

After an hour, Jon kept his word to wake her, and she smiled brilliantly at him. 

“Do you think there’s any food left?” She asked. 

“I’m certain of it,” he assured her. He helped her dress, wincing as he saw bruises forming around the wounds, bruises on her belly. 

Once she was dressed and Missandei had straightened her hair and crown, they returned to the feast, where she was met with further cheering. 

Jon did not return to his table. He sat beside her and nobody tried to stop him. He smiled as she tried different foods, sometimes wrinkling her face in distaste, other times moaning in pleasure in a way that made his blood stir with sheer desire. 

He wondered now why she was angry at Qyburn. Probably he’d gotten too insistent about her waiting to go to war. Daenerys did not surround herself with advisors who would pander to her. She liked for them to speak freely, even challenge her. But once she made her mind up, she could be intransigent. 

After the feast, he accompanied her to her room, and if they hadn’t been followed by a train of overprotective guards, he’d have pulled her into his arms and kissed her. 

As it was, he lifted her hand to his lips, and had to be satisfied with that. For now.


	35. Chapter Thirty Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa starts to get a glimpse into what the people think about things, Daenerys makes some plans, conversations happen. Daenerys and Sansa start to rebuild their friendship.  
Next few chapters will be Essos and I’m extremely nervous because it’s a lot of battles and these are not my forte. Kind of wrote myself into a corner here!  
Thank you all so much for your comments and kudos! And thank you for reading this, I appreciate it so much!  
I hope you enjoy it! :-)

Chapter Thirty Five

Sansa was expecting that she would hate serving, and while the work itself did not give her much pleasure, the expressions on the faces of the children, did. 

The food was certainly luxurious. Minstrels had come in to play music for them, and Sansa could see that no expense had been spared. She’d been to enough feasts to know that the attention to detail was as assiduous as any royal feast. 

Sansa rushed about, but kept her eye on Alissa. The girl had been urged to sit at the table with the other children, and she obeyed, but her expression was listless. 

She barely ate any of the food, but she did pick at some of the cakes, and that gave Sansa some happiness. 

Once the children had eaten far too much and were sent to their beds giggling and full and singing, the thankless part of the work began. 

As she and the other women cleared the tables, Hayana entered the room, holding a scroll and sitting down. 

“I need to know who is taking tomorrow and who is taking the next day,” she told them.

The other women rushed forward to choose their day and argue over it, and Sansa walked over to Hayana hesitantly.

“Taking tomorrow or the next day?”

Hayana looked at her with her steely blue-grey eyes. “Feast day,” she said, her voice caked in annoyance. “It’s like I told you. The queen gets a feast, everyone gets a feast. Anyone who worked today’s feast can choose tomorrow or the next day to attend one of them.”

Sansa frowned. She remembered hearing about that at the last feast, too. 

“I don’t need a feast day,” she said. “I’ll work both days.”

She saw some of the other women glance at her; surprise, admiration, resentment on their faces. 

“Nobody needs a feast day,” Hayana said flatly. “But the queen thinks everyone should have one.”

“I just started. It hardly seems fair to immediately get a feast day. I’ll be around for the next one.”

“Might not be a next one, but suit yourself.”

Sansa went back to work, and one of the women brushed past her, a little too hard to be an accident. Sansa glared at her.

“You trying to impress Hayana is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” the woman said.

“I’m not trying to impress anyone. I just started, like I said. I don’t think I should be taking feast days right away.”

“Leave her alone, Mayla,” another woman said, wiping the table and smiling at Sansa. “Mayla’s just mad because she was sick during the last feast and wanted to take both days to make up for it.”

“Shut up, Jeyne. And why shouldn’t I get both days? I’ve been working like a dog and it’s not my fault I was sick for the last one. And it’s like Hayana said, this could be the last time we get to have of our own.”

“Why would this be the last one?” Sansa asked carefully.

Jeyne and Mayla exchanged a look. 

“It’s not all that common for us to get feasts of our own. Even Queen Margaery wanted to give us the leftovers, not a feast of our own. And she was the only good one of the whole lot before Queen Daenerys,” Jeyne said.

“But of course Queen Cersei gave the leftovers to the dogs, and we got nothing,” added Mayla.

“Hayana says the crown will run out of money. Queen Daenerys spends way too much,” Jeyne said. 

Sansa frowned. “The Tyrells support her projects. And she received some gifts from Essos. Even Yi Ti. She has the coin.”

“Maybe, but for how long? And anyway, she’s probably going to die in Essos,” Mayla said bluntly. “And even if she doesn’t, she’s not going to be able to keep up with this.”

Sansa frowned. She had to be cautious, she realized. “Well, I’m not going to go to a feast,” she said firmly. 

“Maybe Hayana will let me have your feast day then,” Mayla said, and Jeyne laughed. 

“Are you going to stand around gossiping, or do your work?” Hayana demanded. 

“There’s no rush,” Mayla pointed out. “The children are in bed.”

“There’s leftover wine,” Hayana said. “From the queen’s feast. You can have it, but no drinking until the work is done.”

That set the women working more quickly, and Sansa saw Jeyne and Mayla whispering and laughing. She walked over to them.

“Are you laughing at me?” She demanded. Jeyne blinked, surprised, and Mayla laughed rudely. 

“I wasn’t before, but I am now. You’re paranoid as a Targaryen. Why would we be laughing at you?”

“What were you laughing at then?” She demanded.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Mayla responded. 

Jeyne laid a conciliatory hand on Mayla’s shoulder. “She’s new. She’s probably nervous. We weren’t laughing at you,” she said, turning back to Sansa. “We were laughing because of leftover wine. Wasn’t Tyrion Lannister at that feast? And yet there’s leftover wine?”

“Must not be very good wine,” Mayla added.

They went back to work, and Sansa was concerned. She knew that the smallfolk saw things quite differently than the highborn, and certainly none of what had been said was treasonous. But Sansa was afraid that some of this might get back to Daenerys, and then Sansa would be sent back to Winterfell.

The truth was that she missed Winterfell with every fiber of her being. And she wondered if Jon was right, if she could simply take Alissa back with her.

But she had to think about what was best for Alissa, not herself. A drastic change like that could make things worse for the girl.

More women had come in for the cleanup, and Sansa wondered if she should start wearing a wrap around her hair. It was her most recognizable feature and she wasn’t at all sure these women should know who she was. 

Once the room was cleaned and cleared, the women rushed to the table where pitchers of wine waited for them. 

Jeyne waved her over and she approached cautiously.

Everyone is your friend. Everyone is your enemy. The advice from Lord Baelish echoed in her head. 

Getting drunk with these women might be unwise. But sipping wine while they got drunk around her might be a good idea.

She walked to the table, pouring herself a mug of wine, and sipped. It was dry and red, and she choked a little, making the other women laugh. 

“Finish your story,” Jeyne urged another young woman, who was not wearing the same uniform. Sansa had not seen her working with the orphans either. 

“So then, they dragged the assassin off to the cells and the queen just got up and finished her speech. Like as if there wasn’t a bolt sticking out of her,” she said.

“Wait, what?” Sansa leaned forward. “A bolt sticking out of her?”

The woman turned to her. “Someone tried to kill the queen with a crossbow. King Jon yelled at her to get down, and thank the Seven he did, or she would be dead. No more servants feasts.”

The other women laughed, and Sansa attempted to offer a fake laugh but her heart was pounding.

“Is King Jon all right?”

“Oh, yeah. He beat all seven hells out of the man, and then Lord Tarly dragged him off with the guards.”

“And the queen is all right?”

“She sure seemed like she was. She was going to just sit there at her table after her speech, but the Imp talked her into seeing the Maester. Then she came back an hour later with the bolt gone, smiling and acting like it never happened at all.”

“Wow. I wish I’d seen that,” Mayla said.

“It was terrifying at the time,” the woman said. She glanced at Sansa. “I’m Camyle.”

“Sansa,” she said, anxious of being recognized. It wasn’t as if they would murder her, but it wouldn’t make for smooth conversation. 

“Ah, like Lady Stark.”

She hesitated. “Yes.” She wished she’d thought of using a fake name, but none of them seemed to think anything of it.

“I heard Lady Stark isn’t even a Lady anymore,” Mayla said, leaning forward. “Because of what happened at the last feast.”

“She’s lucky to even be alive,” Camyle said dismissively. “I heard she marched right up to Queen Daenerys and told her she wasn’t the rightful queen. In front of everyone.”

“Yeah, but you know the queen will let her live, because she’s fucking Lady Stark’s brother,” Mayla said. 

“We don’t know they’re fucking,” Jeyne said, laughing. “Just because the songs say it.”

“If you saw the king’s face when that bolt went into her, you’d change your mind,” Camyle said. 

Sansa flushed. Were Jon and Daenerys having sex? She knew they loved each other. 

“Anyway it was stupid of Lady Stark to do it and it was stupid of Queen Daenerys not to insist on a harsher punishment,” Mayla said. 

“Lady Stark is dangerous. You know she and the Imp murdered King Joffrey,” Camyle said.

“No, they didn’t,” Sansa said sharply.

“They sure did. Lady Stark disappeared that day. She was married to the Imp. He went on trial and he was going to be found guilty. He lost his damn mind, said he wished he could poison the whole city. He demanded a trial by combat and lost that too. Then he murdered his father,” Camyle told her.

“That doesn’t mean-“

“You are so naive,” Mayla said, laughing. 

Sansa bit her lip, sipping again at the wine. 

“And the queen has the Imp as her Hand now,” Mayla went on, “and you remember what a disaster that was when he was King Joffrey’s Hand.”

A disaster? Sansa thought indignantly. Tyrion saved this city during the Blackwater. 

“And he murdered his nephew and king for Lady Stark. If Queen Daenerys doesn’t die in Essos, she’ll get murdered by her own Hand.”

Sansa could barely breathe. She was angry at them for saying such things, afraid to the bone that they would be repeated, and Daenerys would hear them, and accuse Sansa of plotting to kill her.

“Don’t look so frightened,” Jeyne said to her, patting her hand. “We’re just gossiping. It’s not as if the Queensguard is going to bust in and arrest us.”

“What makes you think Lord Tyrion would kill the queen?” She asked in a small voice. 

Hayana approached them, her steely eyes sweeping over them. “Camyle, why are you here?”

“I wanted to tell them about the feast! Someone tried to murder the queen!”

Hayana looked at her severely. “You should be with the other kitchen servants and not here.”

Camyle rolled her eyes, and walked out of the room. 

“Are you scaring the new girl?” She demanded of Mayla and Jeyne.

“No, we were just talking about the Imp. Wondering if he would kill the queen,” Jeyne said.

Hayana gave an impatient snort. “And why would he do that?”

“Because he killed King Joffrey?” Mayla said.

“King Joffrey was rotten to the bone,” Hayana said, sitting down and looking into the wine pitchers. 

“This is the one from Yi Ti,” Jeyne said, pushing a pitcher toward her. 

Hayana poured some into her mug, only half way, and sipped. “Queen Daenerys is about as practical as silk armor, and bright as a doused candle, but she’s not rotten. The Imp isn’t going to kill her. He’ll probably take advantage of her. But Casterly Rock is as dry as a Septa’s cunt and he knows it. He’s not going to do something against his own self interest. Besides, we don’t know the Imp even killed King Joffrey. Wasn’t he holding the damn cup? I’d think he’d be smarter than that.”

“Queen Daenerys isn’t stupid,” Sansa said defensively. 

“No?” Mayla jumped in. “She sent food into our city during her own siege-“

“People would have starved otherwise,” Sansa argued.

“And we’re grateful,” Hayana said. “Believe me, I’ve seen too many children die of starvation not to be grateful. I saw grown men weep when the packages came. I’ll admit, even I kept one of those sigils from the packages. Until Queen Cersei started murdering people. And it wasn’t that alone. She started moving people out when Queen Cersei began executing people. But the purpose of a siege is to starve people. She has dragons. Why not just burn the Red Keep?”

Sansa frowned. “Innocent people-“

“Enemies,” Hayana said grimly. “Then when the wildfire was set off, she charged directly into the flames to save people-“

“So did King Jon!”

“And he’s stupid too. But it’s her influence. You know he beheaded Janos Slynt because he refused an order. It’s like Camyle said, Lady Stark told the queen to her face, before all the highborns in Westeros, that she had no claim to the throne. And the queen did nothing.”

“She stripped her title.”

“So what? She’ll go back to Winterfell, and her title will eventually be reinstated. Meanwhile, the queen is letting the North decide whether they’ll be independent. It’s foolish beyond comprehension.”

“What would you have her do?”

“Well, for one thing she should have demanded the North’s fealty. For another thing, she should have sent Lady Stark to the Silent Sisters or executed her.”

“Even if she was telling the truth?” 

“Especially if she was telling the truth, and have that heir taken care of, too. What was she thinking? A male heir. Oh, just let him live. Stupid.” Hayana sipped at her wine. 

“That’s how queens get deposed,” Mayla added. 

“She has the largest army in the world and three dragons,” Sansa pointed out. “Hard to depose her.”

“And that’s how queens get murdered,” Hayana said.

“Seems like murdering her is a fool’s errand,” Jeyne said. “She was poisoned with tears of Lys a few moons ago, assassins got into her room less than a fortnight ago, and now tonight she was shot with a bolt from a crossbow.”

“It’ll catch up,” Hayana said. 

Sansa frowned. “It seems like you all really hate her,” she said. 

“I don’t even know her,” Hayana said. “I’ve exchanged maybe twelve words with her. And she’s the best we’ve had in years. But she’s talking about building glass gardens and new orphanages and all these other things, and there’s no way she’s going to be able to keep all these promises. She’s going to another war. She lets people walk all over her, and I can tell you, that’s not a good thing. She’ll either break her promises or get murdered and then who knows what we’ll get stuck with.”

Sansa considered pointing out that Lord Willas would be a good king but thought better of it. Too easily her words could be twisted.

“Queen Alysanne was very good to the people,” she finally said. “She wasn’t murdered or deposed.”

“Queen Alysanne was queen because she married the rightful heir. And nobody was marching up to her telling her she wasn’t the queen. King Jaehaerys would have had their head if anyone disrespected her like that. They also weren’t set to give the North or anyone else their independence,” Hayana said. 

“Camyle told me she overheard some Northmen talking and they said King Jon is the man Lady Stark was talking about, that he’s really a Targaryen,” Jeyne said. 

“Oh, then they’re definitely fucking,” Mayla responded. 

The women laughed, and Sansa tried to laugh as well, but the entire conversation had set her nerves on edge.

“Listen,” Hayana said. “I’ve got nothing against the queen. But I thought right when she smuggled food to us, that she was too good to be true. Everything she’s done so far. It’s all too good to be true. And now this happened with Lady Stark and the Northern independence thing, it makes her look weak. But what can we do? We’ll have to wait and see.”

Sansa drank the remaining wine in her cup. Did the children feel the same way as these women? She remembered Alissa saying they were all the same. An idea started to form in her head. 

“We should have a day out with the children,” she said. 

“Out of the question,” Hayana said, and Sansa’s heart dropped.

“Why not?”

“Queen’s orders. She doesn’t want the children taken anywhere without permission. She’s afraid that they’ll be taken by people who don’t have their best interest at heart.”

Sansa had to admit that made sense. “What if I got a letter from the queen?”

“Good luck with that,” Mayla said. “She’s preparing for war, I doubt she’ll take the time to talk to you.”

“It’s worth a try,” Hayana said. “I know she does tend to drop everything when it’s something about the children. Still, the timing is bad, because as Mayla said, she’s going to war in a few days. What did you have in mind?”

“I just want them to see some things that I saw recently,” Sansa responded.

She sipped again at the wine, and she listened half heartedly to the conversation. She wanted to ask about Alissa, but she knew this was not the time, and asking about a specific child might seem suspicious.

The women were discussing men now, and whether or not they’d bed this man or that one if given the chance. There was a general agreement that they would all willingly jump into bed with Jon, and Sansa almost laughed, imagining how that would fluster him.

Maybe it wouldn’t, though. Sansa realized she really didn’t know that side of him at all.

Sansa wondered what Daenerys would think about it. She’d choked on her tea when Wynafryd Manderly had asked if Jon was betrothed.

But she must know women looked at him, wanted him. She almost laughed again as she imagined bringing that up to her. 

One of them mentioned Podrick, and Sansa looked at them sharply. 

“Podrick Payne?” She demanded.

“He’s adorable,” Jeyne said. 

“And you know about the whores,” Mayla added.

“What about the whores?” Sansa asked, a little afraid of the answer. 

“Lord Tyrion gave him money years ago for whores, and whatever he did was so good, they gave him his money back!” Jeyne told her.

Sansa flushed. Her mind wandered over possibilities of what he could have done with them, and found herself getting excited and flustered. She wondered why she felt suddenly and irrationally jealous.

She realized that she should probably sleep. She’d refused her feast day and had to rise early, and also would have to try to speak with Daenerys.

She bid the women good night and went to bed.

*************************

Daenerys woke early, and was concerned that she had to take more of the pain medicine now to achieve the same level of relief. Qyburn had warned her of this, but it still concerned her.  
Of course it hadn’t helped that she’d been shot with a crossbow. 

She stood naked before the mirror, studying her reflection. The bruises on her belly were spreading, and Qyburn had told her it was from bleeding inside. Her entire shoulder was bruised as well, spreading beyond the bandage that covered the stitched wound itself. 

It was depressing, she thought. She looked and felt ravaged.

She sat on her bed, waiting for the vicious tide of pain to ebb. Worse now, because the agony in her shoulder spread down her back and across her chest. 

She tried to keep her breathing even, a battle against wracking pain. She heard a knock at her door. 

“Come in,” she answered faintly. She was surprised for a moment that Missandei should be up so early the day after the feast, but then Randyll Tarly entered the chambers. 

He stared at her, frozen, then looked down at the floor, flushing. “My apologies, Your Grace.”

“My fault,” she said, moving painfully to don her nightclothes, more out of respect for him than modesty.

He saw her movements, and rushed to pick up her robe, which she’d left draped over a chair, wrapping her in it, his hands strangely tender, almost fatherly. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, pulling the robe tightly around herself. “I apologize, Lord Tarly. I thought you were Missandei.”

“No apology is necessary, Your Grace. I questioned the man who attempted to assassinate you. He was hired by a contingent of men who call themselves the Wise Masters.” His voice dripped sarcasm at their chosen name.

She nodded. “Thank you,” she said again, lifting her chin and breathing deeply, trying to muster a smile. 

“I also have more of the the writings...” he broke off and looked at her. “Your Grace, you don’t have to pretend you’re not in pain for my benefit.”

She smiled again, and despite her pain, it was genuine. “I appreciate it, My Lord. It’s a habit.”

“I imagine it is. I saw a man die from tears of Lys once. A long time ago. Bad way to go. Took two days to die and he spent most of it weeping and sleeping after guzzling milk of the poppy. He was a good man. A good soldier. I know what it does. And I watched you refuse to take the milk of the poppy when you were poisoned. You didn’t want to take it from the soldiers. They had to force it on you.”

“I took it sometimes,” she said.

“Barely. And you held on for four days before that Dornish potion came. I know as queen, you never want to show weakness. Sometimes you’re a little too kind, and if people don’t know you, they might foolishly think you’re weak. I thought it when we first met. I can promise you, Your Grace, no one who knows you thinks that. You do not have to put on any kind of show for me.”

“I appreciate that.”

“May I have your permission to speak freely?”

She smiled again. “Of course. Always.”

“I suspect I know what your answer will be. But I beseech you, stay here. Let them save you. We will fight for you.”

“That means more to me than I can possibly put into words, Lord Tarly. But I can’t. I have to go.”

“You don’t. I swear by my own life, we will fight them with all we have and destroy them.”

“I have no doubt of it. I hope you can understand, I must do this.”

Lord Tarly sighed and gave a nod. “I’d feared you would say that. It’s been some time since we had a ruler we could be proud to serve. There should be a kind of reverence when we think of our king or queen. We haven’t had that in decades. Of course there are those who don’t yet know you. But for those who do...you’ve generated more hope in your new reign than every other monarch for the past few decades, together. It’s been honor to serve you, Your Grace.”

She stared at him, unable to speak for a moment. She felt a lump start to form in her throat, and he almost smiled. 

“I’ve seen you poisoned and shot with a crossbow, I’ve seen you after assassins tried to strangle you, and I’ve seen you face down hordes of dead, and jump into fire and back out again. But I only see tears in your eyes when you’re faced with being told you are cherished.” He handed her the package of writings he’d brought in. “These are the writings my son Samwell separated from the others, they are the ones most likely to save you. I rode ahead in the hope I could convince you to stay.”

“I’m so sorry you rushed, only to be disappointed. I hate to disappoint my supporters. But I can’t.”

“I am glad I rushed ahead. I had to try. And now I’ve heard you are allowing Westerosi armies to join you, it’s even better. I’ll be joining you, if that’s acceptable to you.”

“I’d appreciate it. I’m rewarding those who do.”

“If I can win a victory for you, that will be reward enough. But of course if you’re willing, it would be good if I could have a small bit of land for my son Samwell.”

“He saved the life of my dearest friend. I’d be happy to give him land regardless.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. Can I get you anything?”

“No, but thank you. The medicine is starting to work. I’ll feel better soon.”

He bowed and left the room. She looked at the writings. Sarella had asked to look at them when they came, so she left them on the table, to have someone bring them to her. 

As the pain receded to a level that was bearable, Dany started to dress. She walked to her council chambers to start working on her strategy for taking back the Bay of Dragons, and was surprised to find Lord Willas and Lady Olenna sitting at the table poring over drawings. 

They both started to stand as she entered. 

“Please, stay seated. How are you today?”

“We’re fine. The question is, how are you?” Lady Olenna asked.

“I’m well, thank you.” She turned to Lord Willas, who was watching her, his brows knitted in concern. “Thank you so much for the crown. It’s absolutely beautiful.”

“I’m so happy you like it, Your Grace. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I love it. I’m all right, I promise.”

“Since you’re here instead of resting as you should be, we would love to hear your thoughts,” Lady Olenna said. She slid the drawings across the table. “Which of these are your favorite?”

Daenerys looked at the drawings. They were all of her; her profile, one with her crown, all showing her various braided hairstyles. 

“These are all of me,” she said.

“Well of course they’re of you,” Lady Olenna said. “We need to start having new coins made. One side will bear your family’s sigil, and we were trying to figure out which would be best for the other side. I’m favoring the one with the crown, but it’s your opinion that’s most important here.”

Daenerys frowned thoughtfully. “The people don’t know me yet,” she observed. “Most of them, anyway. If these coins are to be in general distribution, I want them to inspire hope. Confidence. I don’t know if my profile will inspire them. I’ve only taken the city a few moons ago.” 

“I disagree, but what are you thinking?” Lord Willas asked her.

She looked up at him. “Your sister.” She turned to Lady Olenna. “You yourself told me that the nobles loved her. The commoners loved her. I’ve heard much about her since then. Queen Margaery was smart. She was kind. She was wise. Truly, she was the kind of queen who demonstrated what greatness means. I think we should have her profile on the coins, to honor her, and remember her. Unless you think she would not have wanted that.”

Lady Olenna’s eyes seemed to sparkle for a moment, and Daenerys realized that tears were forming. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, horrified. “I didn’t mean to upset you, I just-“

Lady Olenna reached across the table, catching her hand and squeezing it, shaking her head. 

She glanced at Lord Willas, who was quickly wiping at his own eyes. 

Lady Olenna recovered quickly, but Daenerys hurt for her. She knew the anguish was deep. 

“She would have loved to be honored in this way. To know she was remembered. You’re certain this is what you want to do?” Lady Olenna asked. 

“I am.”

They went over the process, certainly they were in no position to mass produce gold coins, but they decided on the numbers of coins and gold, silver, and other metals they could use. 

“There was another matter, it’s small but indicative of a deeper matter that’s not small,” Lord Willas said.

“All right.”

“Did you want that Bronn of the Blackwater to have Harrenhal?”

Dany sighed. “Not especially,” she said. “Lord Tyrion promised it to him.”

“And you’ve spoken to Lord Tyrion about offering land without discussing it with you.”

She nodded. “I did.”

“Good. I like that you agreed to allow Lord Tully to choose someone for Harrenhal, it was a good move politically. But he cannot give his own child The Twins unless you decide to do so. There are many Freys born ahead of his wife. And much more importantly, if you wanted to give someone land, you have the right to do so. That’s why I wanted to ask about Ser Bronn. Because if you yourself wanted him to have it, then he should have it. You are the queen.”

She nodded. It was a valid point. “Thank you.”

Lord Willas nodded. “Of course. When you return, we can discuss this more fully. I want you to understand that lords will try to take advantage of you.”

She smiled at him. “Your support and knowledge are priceless. I would be lost without you. I hope you know that.”

Daenerys was looking over details now, those last details to be addressed before she went to Essos. 

She walked through the halls, visiting the people who were seeing to different plans, and was wondering if she could slip a nap into the middle of the day. She wasn’t in pain, fortunately, but the loss of blood from the crossbow attack had caused her to feel weaker and more tired than usual. 

She was moving toward her room, when she almost ran directly into Sansa Stark, turning a corner. 

Sansa was wearing the uniform of the women who worked with the orphans, and had tucked her glorious auburn hair into a wimple.

“Good morning,” she greeted, still walking. 

“I must speak with you,” Sansa said urgently. “Good morning,” she added.

“All right.” Daenerys asked. 

Sansa fell into step beside her. “I need for you to stamp some letters for me. Please.”

Daenerys gave her a sidelong glance. “I mean no offense, but I’ll have to read them first.”

“Of course. I want to take the children out, to see the city. The projects that are happening. I need your permission.”

“That’s a good idea. They’ve been given permission to go out into the garden, and some of the older children get to see the kinds of work they want to learn how to do. But I think trips for pleasure will be lovely.”

“Yes...but it’s not only for pleasure.”

“No?”

“Your Grace, what do you think of Hayana?”

“Hayana? I don’t know her well. But I can see she cares deeply for the children. For their well being. She’s very practical. Pragmatic. I think she’s a little suspicious of me, but who can blame her? Why?”

“I want her to come on the trip.”

“Well I can’t very well order her to-“

“You can. You’re the queen. You can order anyone to do anything.”

She sighed. “That’s not the kind of queen I want to be.”

“With respect, yes it is. I’m not trying to cause trouble for anyone-“

Daenerys couldn’t help but laugh at that, and Sansa glared at her. “I’m sorry. Go on.”

“But Hayana and the other women think you’re making promises you can’t or won’t keep. That you won’t really build all the things you promised.”

“Time will tell on that,” Daenerys said.

“Yes, but they should see it now. These letters aren’t commanding they go, more saying that I can take them and there should be as many workers there as possible to protect them. There are also letters for the builders to let them know we’re coming. I need those stamped too. They need to see what you’re doing. I saw it myself. If they see it, they’ll know. They’ll know all you’re doing.”

Daenerys sighed. “I’ll sign your letters. And please know I appreciate it. Especially considering our history, it’s kind that you would wish to inspire their confidence in me. But until the structures are built, it’s all just promises to them. And they may yet dislike me nonetheless.”

“They don’t dislike you. They think you’re too good to be true. And they think you should have executed me.”

Daenerys looked at her sharply. “They said that to you?”

“They don’t know I’m...me. They think Lord Tyrion and I killed Joffrey. They think you and Jon are fucking and that’s why you didn’t execute me.”

Daenerys laughed. “I suppose that’s as good a reason for them to come up with as any.”

“They were very grateful when you sent the food in during the siege. But they think you’re not practical and will be deposed or murdered.”

“Wonderful,” Daenerys murmured. 

“They need to see what you’re doing,” Sansa repeated doggedly.

Daenerys entered her study, sitting down and reading Sansa’s letters, then stamping them and handing them back to her. 

“Make sure to bring guards. I want to be certain they’re kept safe.”

“I will. Thank you.” Sansa stood by the desk, watching as Daenerys looked over other letters. 

She glanced up at her. “Was there something else?”

“You’re leaving soon.”

“Tomorrow,” Daenerys said.

“They think you’re going to die in Essos.”

Daenerys grimaced. “There seems to be an agreement on that.”

“When you left Winterfell that night, I hope you know that everyone there sent prayers to the Old Gods for your safety. Yours and Jon’s. And when the men returned, they drank toasts to your health.”

Daenerys looked at her in surprise. “Did they?”

“They did. And I...I made this for you.”

She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a small parcel, handing it to her.

“You made something for me?” She took the parcel, opening it carefully.

“I started it that night. I never made one before so I don’t know if it’s right, but...I wanted to try.”

Daenerys looked at the small black satin banner, where Sansa had embroidered her family’s sigil with red thread.

“This is beautiful,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

“I...I was so afraid when we got here. I know it’s not an excuse for how I acted. You know, when Ser Brienne first tried to rescue me from Littlefinger, I stayed with him. And you know about what happened with Cersei. I’ve made a lot of stupid decisions about trust. I’ve trusted the wrong people, and then I refused to trust people I should have. I made the latter mistake with you. But I saw what you were building that day I walked around the city. I know that now you can’t really trust me. But maybe over time...I liked you. I really did. I thought you were a little full of yourself and you expected everyone to be impressed with you.”

Daenerys laughed. “Well, I suppose that’s fair.”

“But I wanted to believe you when you promised us independence.”

“I meant that.”

“I know. I know that now. But maybe Jon is right. Maybe after winter is better. The thing is, you may be the best ruler Westeros has ever had. But what about after you? What if the next ruler is not a good one? I just want the North to be safe. But I went about everything in such a panic.”

“You don’t have to explain all this to me,” Daenerys said.

“I do. Because I feel like...like we could have been friends. Now I’ve ruined that, I’ve disgraced myself, the people of the North don’t trust me, Jon can barely look at me, you hate me now-“

“I don’t hate you.”

“-the smallfolk here think you should have executed me, and we may never be friends. And if you marry Jon, we’ll be family.”

“Marry him?”

“You love him. And he loves you. Everyone knows it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Maybe. That’s between you and him. But Arya said that you’re his family. And he’s our family. So you’re our family in a way. And we were almost friends. I just wanted to...to give that to you and tell you I’m sorry. That if you die in Essos, I’m not going to be happy about it.”

Daenerys smiled then. “Well, thank you for that. It’s good to have one less person who wants me dead.”

Sansa smiled back at her. “I think most people want you alive. We can’t understand why you won’t wait and do whatever procedure Qyburn-“

“I can’t.”

“You’re tired of having this argument with everyone.”

Daenerys laughed. “I appreciate the concern, truly, it means so much to me. But I really don’t want to keep explaining it.”

“I won’t keep at it then. But I hope you come back here.”

“Thank you,” Daenerys said. “That means a lot to me.”

Sansa left the room then, and Daenerys was ready to get back to her letters when Daario stormed in.

“Some people knock,” she said, studying him.

“What condition was Sarella Sand talking about?”

Daenerys sighed. “I’m fine, as you can see.”

“Last night, a man tried to kill you.”

“Not the first, and won’t be the last.”

“And when that bolt went into you, you were barely affected.”

“I was on very strong pain medicine.”

“I realize that. Before it happened. You were on strong pain medicine already. Why?”

“I’ll tell you. But I need you to promise me you aren’t going to start treating me as if I’m fragile, or trying to convince me to stay here.”

“All right,” he said, but he looked tense.

“A few moons ago, I was poisoned with tears of Lys. I was given an antidote that flushed the poison out of me. But there was damage.”

Daario was trying to keep his gaze level, but she saw his fists clench, saw his eyes flicker. “How bad?”

“Bad. I had a lot of pain and I was dealing with it. But now with a war coming, I didn’t want to be paralyzed with pain.”

“Is there anything that can be done?”

“We’re hoping. But it’s hard to say. There’s a procedure that might work, but it might not. I can’t risk dying before this war, I have to go. Please don’t try to talk me out of going, I just can’t have this argument one more time.”

“I won’t try to talk you out of going. I came here to ask for your help. That was before I knew about this. But I know better than to try to sway you once you’ve made your mind up. What will happen?”

“What will happen is, we will destroy the slavers once and for all, and then the Iron Bank-“

“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about you. What will happen to you?”

“Ideally, I’ll win this war, see my home, come back here, the procedure will save me and all will be well.”

“But if not...”

“If not, then I accomplish what I’d hoped. Ally with the people who have been enslaved so they can take back their freedom. The Iron Bank backs them and the slave trade as we know it is smashed. The things I started building here will be built. And I will leave this world better than I found it.”

“Leave this world...” Daario repeated, his voice low. 

“It was always a possibility, Daario. You know that.”

He nodded. “The idea was to prevent that.”

“I know,” she said, her voice gentle. 

Daario nodded again. Daenerys stood. “I have one more thing I must do before I prepare to leave. We will speak before we-“

Daario wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, almost clinging to her.

He released her then, and his face was savage with worry. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m not in a rush, I promise.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I’m sure.”

Daenerys needed to see Arya, who responded right away to her message, and she was grateful.

“You wanted to see me?”

“My dragons know you. They have eggs. I just wanted to ask you to...to look in on them. Jon has promised that he will protect them if I don’t return, but while we’re both gone, I want them to be looked after.”

Arya looked at her in wonder. “You would trust me with this?”

“Yes. We’re friends. And you’ve never looked at them like monsters. I need to know they are protected.”

“I promise I will,” Arya told her. 

Daenerys embraced her. “Thank you for all you’ve done. And thank you for this.”

“Thank you for trusting me. Make sure you come back.”

“I’ll do all in my power to do exactly that.”

Daenerys was tired at the end of the day. Tomorrow they would leave for Essos. There was nothing else that needed to be done. 

She heard a knock at her door, and called out to enter, ensuring that her nightclothes were firmly covering her, not wanting a repeat of that morning.

Jon entered the room, and she felt her heart lightening as she saw him. 

“Are you all right?” He asked her. 

“You saved my life, you know. If you hadn’t told me to get down when you did-“

Jon wrapped his arms around her suddenly and kissed her, and her thoughts scattered. 

“I love you,” he told her. He lifted her into his arms, laying her onto her bed tenderly. 

“I love you,” she murmured. 

“Can I stay? Not to...I won’t keep you awake. I remember how it was to just...sleep. Near you.”

Daenerys smiled sleepily. “I would like that very much.” 

He kicked off his boots and climbed into bed with her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her.

They drifted into sleep together. 

Daenerys thought drowsily that if indeed this was to be her last night in Westeros before she died, she could not imagine a better way to spend it.


	36. Chapter Thirty Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gets a little closer to Alissa, Dany and company leave for Essos. Some smut near the end. 
> 
> As always, Thank you all for your wonderful comments and advice, for your kudos, and for reading my fic!
> 
> I hope everyone had Happy Holidays!

Chapter Thirty Six

The sun rising over Blackwater Bay painted streaks across the sky, pink, gold, and orange. The light seeped into the chambers and Jon wanted to wake Daenerys, to show her.

She looked peaceful as she slept, and Jon decided against it. The dawn light gleamed across her beautiful face, and he wished she could wake to a world that would not force her into another war, to a body that did not bleed inside. 

He ran his fingers lightly over her hair, smiling at her, overwhelmed by tenderness. If only he could protect her from everything. 

He rose from her bed regretfully, putting on his boots and walking to her council chambers. He’d listened to the war plans, he knew they were sound. Still, he feared.

He was not surprised to find Daenerys’ advisors gathered there, but their words...

“It’s treason, what you’re suggesting,” Captain Naharis was saying, and Jon was immediately enraged.

“It’s not treason, exactly,” Tyrion argued weakly.

“She’ll see it as treason,” Captain Naharis insisted. 

“If she deems it treason, I’ll take full responsibility for it,” Randyll Tarly thundered at him, “and she can burn me for it. I’ll gladly let her do it-“

“Let her,” Naharis retorted sarcastically.

“-as long as she’s alive to do it.”

“You’re all sitting in here talking about treason?” Jon’s voice was low, vibrating with rage.

“If she says it’s treason and decides to burn me, so be it,” snapped Tarly.

Jon’s hand went to his sword, and he started toward him, and Tarly turned to him, readying himself, his hand on the pommel of his own sword.

“Why don’t you hear him out, before murdering him,” Lady Olenna suggested.

“I cannot believe you two,” Jon growled at them. “She trusts you. She loves you. And you would betray her.” 

Jon was speaking the words to himself as much as them, and he didn’t care. The fury in him was beating against his skull and he would kill everyone in the room if he had to. 

He and Tarly began to move toward each other. 

“You both need to stop,” Lord Willas told them, his usually soft and affable voice striking like a whip. “Lord Tarly, you need to put yourself into King Jon’s position. Imagine you walk into a room and we’re all gathered here talking about possible treason against our queen. What would you do?”

Tarly’s face seemed to change; it didn’t soften, but understanding broke across his features and he nodded. 

“It’s true. My apologies. You’re right to be angry,” he said to Jon.

“We aren’t talking about betraying her exactly,” Tyrion said carefully. 

“What are you talking about?” Jon demanded.

“Defying her,” Naharis said. “They’re talking about defying her.”

“I walked in on her yesterday morning,” Tarly said. “She hadn’t dressed yet. Have you seen her? She’s covered in bruises. She’s bleeding inside. She’s taking more of that pain medicine every day. If she goes to war, she will die. I will not stand by and let that happen.”

“I’ve attempted to convince her to stay,” Jon began.

“We all have, dear, and she’s tired of hearing it,” Lady Olenna said. 

“We can win this war for her,” Tarly said. “She needs to stay here and get this taken care of.”

“I agree. But we can’t force her to stay,” Jon said.

The others in the room exchanged glances. 

“I was wondering if we could give her something that would make her sleep,” Tarly said. “We could check with the Maesters to make sure it’s safe. We will leave without her and win this war in her name. She’ll get her treatment. And if she burns me for treason when we return, so be it. Better that than letting her die.”

“What she’ll do,” Naharis said, “Is wake from whatever treatment, jump on her dragon, and follow us. It’s who she is. You can’t just drug her unconscious until she recovers.”

“If she goes to war before being treated, she will die,” Tarly repeated. “She should have been treated sooner.”

“What’s happening with her, can turn into an infection,” Sarella added. “She wouldn’t even know. She’s on medicine that stops her pain, and she has such a natural heat, she won’t realize it if she has a fever. By the time she knows something is wrong, it will be too late.”

Naharis shuddered. Jon could almost feel sorry for the man; his own mind was divided the same. 

It felt dishonest, even like a betrayal, to drug her and leave without her. He had to agree with Tyrion that it was not quite treason, yet it was deceitful. And Tarly was right as well, she could die otherwise. Daenerys would be angry. Jon doubted she would burn anyone over it, but he couldn’t be certain. She might. She would certainly feel betrayed. In any event, Tarly seemed more than willing to take the entire blame for the act and be burned alive to keep her safe. 

Another thought stabbed through his mind.   
“What if the treatment doesn’t work?” He asked. “Queen Daenerys said it was a procedure. It’s a kind of surgery. What if we drug her and she...she dies anyway? We will then have robbed her of her victory over the Slavers, robbed her of the peace of knowing she achieved all she aimed to. And worst of all, we’ve robbed her of whatever time she has left.”

“And we have no way to know for certain Qyburn can be trusted,” Tyrion added. 

“Perhaps he can’t,” Sarella said. “But I’ve looked at the writings. They’re sound. Of course you’re right, Your Grace,” she said to Jon, “we cannot say for certain she’ll survive. It’s a significant risk, and we would be doing it without her permission. If we are unable to save her, it’s as King Jon says, we’ll have robbed her. Murdered her, really. But if we don’t, she will more than likely die before she gets back to us.”

“There is another way,” Kinvara said. 

“I’ve already offered,” Jon told her. 

“Imagine how she’ll react, Your Grace, if we burn you to save her,” Kinvara responded.

“Burn him? Are you out of your mind?” Tarly stormed at Kinvara. “How would burning him accomplish anything?”

“Blood magic. Only death can pay for life.”

“You’re a madwoman,” Tarly snapped.

“Mad she might be, but it’s been proven to work,” Tyrion put in. “But If our queen wakes to find someone has been burned to save her, she will not be happy.”

“I find it extremely hard to believe that she could be saved by burning someone else,” Tarly said skeptically.

“It can. It’s been done,” Kinvara told him. 

Tarly frowned. “You can sacrifice someone, and it will save her. This is certain? That she will live?”

“It’s certain.”

“You can burn me,” Naharis said, turning to her. “But if you then fail to save her, I’ll haunt you.”

“Or me,” Tarly offered. “If you’re certain.”

Lord Willas started to speak, no doubt to offer his own life, when Tyrion interrupted.

“Before everyone lines up to be sacrificed for our queen, why don’t we try to figure out some other way? If she wakes to find any of you dead, she will be devastated. She already undervalues her own life, as demonstrated by the fact that she’s planning to go to war when she should be resting and getting treated. How much worse will she feel if she wakes to find we’ve burned someone alive?”

“It would be better than her not waking up at all,” Tarly told him. 

“It can’t be just anyone,” Kinvara told them. “The sacrifice must have king’s blood.”

“She named me her heir, and my sister was queen,” Lord Willas said.

“The people of Meereen chose me to rule them in the queen’s stead,” added Naharis.

“I’m the King in the North and my grandfather was King of the Seven Kingdoms,” Jon put in. 

“I still think we should try something else,”   
Tyrion insisted. “The queen will not desire any of you to die. We have to think of what her emotional state will be. Think how any of you would feel to find out she had died in a sacrifice to save your life.”

“I’ve sworn my sword, my life and my heart to her,” Naharis told him. “Dying for her is literally what I sighed up for.”

“You gave her something,” Lady Olenna said to Kinvara. “Right after the Kings Landing disaster. It ended her fever and took much of her pain. Could you not give her more of that?”

“I could. And it will help. But much like the pain medicine, each time it will be less effective, and she will need more of it.”

“I’d suggest giving it to her,” Tarly said. “Better to have it than not. But I’ve stated what I think we should do. Have her sleep deeply enough that we can leave without her, win the war for her, and she can rest, get her treatment, and recover. If she considers it treason, I will take full responsibility. She could have burned me and my son the first day we met. If she’d been a different kind of queen, I’d have died that day. For Cersei. For oath breaking. Where is the honor in that? At least in this matter I would die for a queen who is worth dying for.”

Jon frowned. He hated to deceive Dany in any way, especially after the vision. But he couldn’t deny the validity of what they were saying. And if she died, when there was a solution, a way to save her, he could never forgive himself. 

But this was a betrayal. A deception. And if the surgery didn’t save her, if she died...

Daenerys entered the chambers then, smiling brightly. “Good morning,” she greeted. Everyone stood as she entered. Greeted her warmly as always. She sat, and looked at their faces. “What is it?”

“We were just planning, Your Grace,” Tarly said. 

She looked at him skeptically, and Jon almost laughed. She knew something was off. 

“I’m going to make you a potion so you won’t get an infection while you’re away,” Kinvara told her, and she smiled gratefully, thanking her. 

They went over final plans, and Sarella presented the glass candle she’d promised, explaining that they’d be able to speak to Bran this way, and have recent, accurate information about where their enemies would be. 

Daenerys was musing that she should go ahead on Drogon, and several horrified objections followed, pointing out that she needed protection, that the slavers would likely want to murder her on sight. 

“Drogon will protect me,” she pointed out. 

“Your Grace, please. If you get there ahead of us, you won’t be able to speak with Bran, you won’t have the glass candle. You won’t have any information about your enemies’ movements,” Tyrion pointed out.

She sighed impatiently. “All right,” she conceded. 

And Jon knew then that Captain Naharis was right. If they drugged her, and she woke to find them gone, she would simply ride ahead on Drogon and start without them. 

He glanced at the faces of her advisors, and could see his own realization was hitting them as well, and Naharis was looking at Tarly pointedly. 

Tarly sighed, recognizing defeat. 

“There’s no convincing you to stay here and be treated,” he said.

“I thank you for being concerned for me, but I can’t stay,” she said firmly.

******************************

Sansa had given Hayana the letters Daenerys had sighed for her, and the woman looked at them skeptically. 

“How did you get the queen to see you so quickly?”

“I told her it was about the children,” Sansa said. It wasn’t truly a lie.

Hayana frowned. “You just walked up to her,” she said. “While she was planning for war.”

“I did.”

“Sansa, do you know her? Personally, I mean.”

Sansa flushed. “I...what happened there, was that I...”

“You’re Sansa Stark, aren’t you?”

Sansa started to lower her eyes, to panic. But she raised her chin instead. She had done nothing wrong. “Why would you say that?”

“You seemed quite disturbed by the idea that the Imp and Lady Stark had killed Joffrey. You seemed to know quite a bit about the queen’s ability to pay for her projects. And I saw Sansa Stark once. Years ago. I hadn’t really thought about it, but you looked familiar when we met. Lady Stark was smaller, had her hair done up fancier, like she were Queen Cersei’s acolyte. You were riding with them. It was only a glimpse. But now I’m seeing you and thinking about it. It’s you, isn’t it?”

Sansa shivered. She knew this woman couldn’t harm her. But she hated being caught in a deception, and she didn’t want to be sent away.

“I didn’t say anything because I saw clearly that you hate highborns,” she said.

“I don’t hate you, I just don’t trust you. And if your intent is to sneak around getting my workers to tell you things in confidence, only to go back and report to the queen-“

“It isn’t. I didn’t tell her anything except that you think she’s impractical. That she won’t keep her promises, and she’s too good to be true. That you said she should have executed me. That she’ll be deposed or murdered.”

“Oh, is that all?” She said sarcastically.

“She has a right to know,” Sansa said. 

“And this was a plan the two of you made? To find out what we say so you could go back to her and-“

“No,” Sansa said, angry at the accusation. “I only wanted her to know, so she would let me bring you and the children to see what she’s building. I thought if you saw it, you’d know she’s really doing what she said. She wasn’t going to have me do my work here at all. She was going to exile me back to Winterfell.”

“And what changed her mind?”

“I asked her. I promised I would stop undermining her. She’s not going to break her promises, Hayana. I thought the same thing. She promised to uphold our independence in the North, if it was what we wanted. I know you think she should have demanded our fealty, but she wants to rule people only if they chose her. She thinks a good ruler serves people as much as rules people. I didn’t believe her either. But...she’s not like I thought. She’s not like you think.”

“I told you, I have nothing against her. It’s just been my experience that if something seems to good to be true, it almost always is. A queen with the kind of military power she has, and dragons on top of it, choosing to lay siege and then feeding the people...”

“I know. I was suspicious too.”

“And now you’ve gone and told her what I said, and she thinks I’m some monstrously ungrateful person who fails to recognize what she’s done for us.”

“She knew you were suspicious of her.”

Hayana sighed in annoyance. “Perhaps it’s best if you serve out your sentence in the North.”

“No,” Sansa said fiercely. “I can’t! It has to be here. I’d prefer if the other women don’t know who I am.”

“So they can speak freely around you and you’ll run right back to the queen.”

“I’m not running back to her. I just...” she sighed. “She wants to know what people think. She’s not going to hurt anyone because of their opinion. She’s not Joffrey and she’s not Cersei. It took me a long time to really acknowledge that, and she’s not going to expect everyone to trust her right away. But I am serving my sentence here because I asked her to let me.” She flushed. “Begged, really.”

Sansa wanted to explain it to her, to tell her that Alissa and her pained little face had somehow lodged herself into Sansa’ heart. She’d barely spoken to the girl, yet she would do almost anything to protect her, to restore her hope.

But she was afraid. She knew Daenerys could be reasoned with and understand. Sansa barely knew Hayana, and could not be certain.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” Hayana said. “The children tell her everything anyway. But we know enough to be cautious in what we say around the children.”

“The children tell her everything?” Sansa frowned. 

“Many of them, anyway. They know she fed them during the siege. That they were evacuated to protect them. And then with the twelve and the wildfire-“

“The twelve?”

“When the evacuations were happening, not everyone left the city. It’s hard to trust any ruler, after all we’ve suffered, so some people hid. Twelve of them were children.”

Sansa remembered Bran telling them about that. “Jon and Daenerys...um...the king and queen rescued the people that stayed.”

“Yes. The queen specifically rescued the children, and I can assure you, those children came to us at Dragonstone, and would not stop talking about it. They were trapped in a burning city. They got to ride a dragon. They won’t forget that. The queen may spend years winning the trust of us hardened adults, but most of the children adore her.”

Not Alissa, Sansa thought. Alissa was as mistrustful as any adult. 

“Can you tell me what happened to Alissa? She hardly eats.”

Hayana sighed deeply, and her expression turned sad. 

“Her father was a merchant. They had a house here in Kings Landing, and a small bit of land in the West. When the wars started, her father died. Her sister was raped and killed during a riot. They sold everything they had. Eventually her mother became a whore to support her and her siblings. She had a baby brother who died of starvation. She and her mother were going to the Sept the day of Queen Cersei’s trial. Queen Margaery was there and would always try to give them something. Of course you know what happened there. Her mother threw herself over her in the explosion and died. That’s how she came by the burns on her arm. She doesn’t talk much, so there may be other things the poor girl went through, that we don’t know yet.”

“How did you find out the rest?”

“I knew the family. All the smallfolk did. Her mother would come in and give little gifts to the orphans. They were good people. Then they were the ones starving, being raped and abused. She doesn’t trust anyone.”

Sansa shuddered. “I can’t blame her,” she said. She had been so devastated by her own pain and loss. But how must it have been for the smallfolk? 

She remembered the day of the riot, when Sandor Clegane had rescued her. Lady Tanda had begged them to rescue her daughter as well, but they had been unwilling. 

Her daughter had survived but was pregnant when she’d returned, having been raped repeatedly. 

But the smallfolk in that horror had no one to protect them. And so many horrors had followed. 

Like herself, this girl had watched her family die brutally. But instead of being able to win back her home and argue for the independence of a kingdom, like Sansa, she had only the orphanage.

“What happens to children when they leave the orphanage?”

“It used to be, they were turned out. If they were fortunate they’d be apprenticed or taken as a ward. But that’s rare. Usually it was the Wall for the boys, the brothels for the girls, or they’d become beggars, thieves, street urchins. Who knows what it will be now? The queen asked me the same question, and when I told her she looked quite upset. She said, ‘no more,’ and started sending people in to teach them to read and to introduce them to trades.” 

Sansa wondered if she would be able to take Alissa as her ward. If being in the North would be better for her, being far away from the place where she’d lost her family, or worse.

“You’ll let me stay?” Sansa asked.

Hayana laughed. “I can’t stop you, really. If the queen said you can stay, there isn’t much I can do.”

“Will you tell the others who I am?”

“They’ll figure it out eventually. They spend time with the other servants. It’s only a matter of time before you’re recognized. And the longer you wait to tell them, the angrier they’ll be at you. It won’t help them in trusting you, going forward. But I’ll keep it to myself for now, if you give me your word that you won’t make trouble. You’ve a reputation for making trouble.”

“I do. I give you my word.”

“All right. I’ll start setting things up for your little day trip. Being honest, I’d like to see it with my own eyes.”

“Thank you, Hayana.”

Sansa walked out of the little anteroom Hayana used as an office, and looked for Alissa. 

She found her sitting by herself on a chair, looking at her hands while the children around her played.

“How are you feeling today?” Sansa asked her, her voice gentle. 

“Fine. Thank you, my lady.”

Sansa tried to think of what to say to ease the girl’s heart around her, and remembered how Margaery had told her personal anecdotes, to help her feel safer around her. 

“I’m not really a lady,” Sansa told her. “I lost my title.”

Alissa’s eyes widened. “You were a lady?”

“I was. But not now.”

“How did you lose your title?” Alissa’s eyes were still red and listless, but seemed to fix in her now in reluctant curiosity.

Sansa hesitated. “I disrespected Queen Daenerys. I told her she wasn’t the rightful queen, before all the lords of Westeros.”

Now Alissa’s eyes were wide as saucers. “Why did you do that?”

“I was afraid. I thought she was going to do harm to my home.”

“You’re brave,” Alissa said.

“Well...the truth is, I was terrified.”

“And then she took away your title?”

“Yes. But she said I can earn it back. She gave me some choices on what I would like to do. I decided I wanted to work here, because I’m an orphan, too.”

“You are?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” Alissa said softly, her eyes sad. “So you work here as a punishment?”

Sansa did not like the sound of that; it sounded as if being with the children was an onerous task.

“Not so much a punishment. The punishment was losing my title. The work was to be my making amends by doing something good. She was going to send me back North. But I wanted to stay here.”

“You’re from the North?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you want to stay here instead of going home?” She asked.

Because of you, Sansa thought. 

“Because I wanted to see what she was doing. So I could learn how to help the children back home when I do return.”

“And she let you? Even though you were mean to her?”

“Yes. She doesn’t like it when people are mean to her. But she tries to understand why.”

Alissa studied her. “I saw her a few times. She came to talk to us at Dragonstone. She gave me cookies and asked me what I wanted to see when she rebuilds the city.”

“What did you tell her?”

Alissa’s eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she wiped them away. “I said I wanted to see a garden. My mother had a really pretty garden in our old house. All kinds of flowers. I know there’s one in the Keep here. But it’s not the same. It’s not ours. But what I really want to see is my family. And they’re all gone now.”

Sansa nodded, reaching over and squeezing her little hand.

“I’m so sorry,” Sansa told her. 

Alissa bit her lip. “I’m sorry, too. How did your mother and father die?”

Sansa hesitated again, but decided to be honest, but not too brutally so. The girl had seen enough brutality in her short lifetime, and maybe it could help her to know that Sansa had no intention of harming her. 

“My father was executed by King Joffrey. And my mother was killed in an ambush during the war, along with my brother and his wife.”

Alissa’s eyes were sorrowful, and for a moment Sansa regretted telling her.

“So you really are an orphan, too.”

“I am.”

Hayana entered and told the children they would be going on a walking trip through the city, and they cheered immediately. Alissa looked at Sansa. 

“Are you going too?”

“Yes,” she assured her, her heart leaping in happiness that Alissa wanted her to come. She squeezed her hand lightly. “We’ll go together.”

*************************

Jon was getting the last of his things into the ship when Lord Manderly approached him.

“This is how it’s going to be, is it?” He demanded. 

Jon looked at him quizzically. “What are you talking about?”

“The queen offered land and gold and other rewards like knighthoods, for soldiers of the Six Kingdoms to join her war. She didn’t offer us anything, didn’t ask if we wished to join her.”

Jon sighed. “You’ve not recognized her as queen. She can’t offer you land in the North or a knighthood.”

“Plenty of smallfolk may have been more than happy to have southern land. And we did vote fealty on your recommendation, Your Grace. She then offered you a loan, and I understand she paid the Iron Bank, and will work out a payment agreement with us. And had us vote again. It seems to me she doesn’t want our fealty at this point. I don’t understand her grudge against us. I realize we were cold to her when she first arrived at Winterfell, but we’ve long since acknowledged her, if not as our own queen, as the queen of the other Six Kingdoms. And as our king, surely you could have offered land and knighthoods.”

Jon frowned. The man had a point.

“I’ll talk to them.”

He had to approach Daenerys first; between Tyrion recklessly offering Harrenhal to his friend, and Sansa giving Deepwood Motte to Sandor Clegane, Jon thought it would only make trouble if he offered southern land or southern knighthoods, or even gold he did not have and she would have to give them. He could offer them Northern land, and that was all. 

He found her speaking with Lord Willas and some builders. Lord Willas was explaining some way to get pipes under the ground, and Jon listened, fascinated. Sam Tarly was approaching as well with some blueprints he’d made up, and the conversation changed to elevators like the one at Castle Black. He was saying this modification would be a great help to people like Lady Olenna and Bran Stark, should they need to get to the top floors. And even Daenerys might use an elevator after her surgery. 

Daenerys saw Jon and smiled at him. He felt the warmth of it down to his bones. 

Once she finished speaking with them, Jon stepped closer to her and told her what Manderly had told him.

She frowned. “I can’t offer Northern land,” she told him.

“No, but I can. And you can offer knighthoods or gold or southern land. I can speak to them, but I wanted to ask you first. They’re a little offended that you didn’t ask them.”

She sighed. “I didn’t think it was in my rights to offer them. Send them my apologies.”

“I will.” 

Jon presented the offer and gathered the Northmen who’d agreed to join the fighting. There was some grumbling that they hadn’t been offered sooner, but they seemed to accept the apology. 

The ships’ sails were painted with Targaryen sigils. Jon smiled as he saw them. He thought of his childhood, of his admiration for Daeron Targaryen. 

How all the children loved to pretend they were Targaryens. And now he was one of them. Daenerys had restored their name, taken back their throne. And he loved her. 

He looked for her, and found her standing at the ship’s quarter deck, watching Kings Landing grow smaller as they sailed away from it.

Drogon flew above the ship, and Rhaegal would join him, then fly back. Soon they would be too far out at sea and Rhaegal would return to hunt and guard Viserion and their eggs.

Dany smiled as she saw Jon approaching. She had taken whatever potion Kinvara had given her, and she looked healthier than she had in some time. 

He wrapped his arms around her, and she rested her head on his shoulder, her scent, oranges, lemons, sandalwood, filling his senses. Her arms wound around him as well. 

“So we find ourselves on a ship together again,” she murmured, her voice husky. 

Jon could feel her words reverberate in his bones, in his blood, stirring his cock. 

“This time, the Night King is gone, you have your throne, and all three of your dragons. And baby dragons on the way,” he told her.

“Yes. A happier trip, I suppose. Except we’re heading toward yet another war.”

“You’ll win this one, too, I have no doubt.”

“We. We will win this one.”

“Kinvara thinks you should take Volantis first, so you’ll have the Tiger Cloaks and the Fiery Hand.”

“I may. It depends on the state of the Bay of Dragons when we get there. If those people are being murdered, I have to address that first.”

“I understand.” Jon ran his hand over her hair. “After this, you might be done with war for awhile.”

“That would be wonderful,” she said softly.

“A good world,” he said, quoting her.

“But you were right, Jon. How do I know it will be good?”

He laughed softly. “You said you knew what was good.”

“I thought I did. But I’m seeing that what’s good to me, might not be good to everyone else. I said they don’t get to choose. But I was wrong. There can be no good world if people don’t get to choose. I want them to be free.”

“And freedom means making your own choice,” he quoted her again.

“Yes. One of your books said that ruling isn’t a right, it’s a duty. And I believe that leading well means serving people as much as ruling them. Maybe even more so.”

“You’re a good queen, Dany.”

“And you’re a good king.”

They stood together, holding each other, as Kings Landing shrank and then was out of sight. 

**************************

Daenerys had met with Jon and the Northern officers who’d joined them, to warn them of the extreme heat in Essos. She’d had the opportunity to do so with other Westerosi who were joining them, but she had not expected Northmen to do so.

She and Jon, Tyrion, Grey Worm, Ser Davos, Qhono, Lord Tarly, Ser Jorah, Daario and Kinvara were on the ship Yara was sailing. They sat together in the galley with the men, and after they’d eaten, Yara had ale brought out. She grinned as she told Daenerys that she had made certain to bring mead as well.

“I know it’s your favorite,” she added, winking at her. 

Daenerys had not expected to be drinking and relaxing on this trip, but of course it was a welcome change in plans. 

She watched as the men grew more drunk and then they began to sing. 

Bawdy songs, sad songs, songs of heroes and monsters and love and loss. 

Tyrion told them that Daenerys had never heard The Rains of Castamere, and after they made a loud disclaimer about hating the Lannisters, which Tyrion fortunately did not take personally, they burst into the song, which every single person there seemed to know by heart.

“That’s a sad song,” Daenerys told them when they’d finished, leading them to wild laughter. 

“Not for Tywin Lannister,” one man told her, and they regaled her with the story of the Reyne-Tarbeck revolt. 

They began to sing another song, this one much more lighthearted, about a bear and a maiden and honey. 

“The Bear and the Maiden Fair,” Tyrion told her as he moved from his own seat to sit next to her and provide a running commentary on the songs. 

Everyone seemed to know this one too, and were happily belting it out. 

Daenerys leaned against Jon, as the sweet wine made its way through her blood and mind. 

He walked her to her cabin late that night. She entered with him, and turned to look at him, at his beautiful face. 

The rocking beneath their feet, the glittering of his deep, dark eyes, filled her with memory and longing. 

His gaze on her was heated. He was remembering too, she realized. The time together they’d never had in this life, but was burned into their memory.

Her eyes were fixed on his mouth. It looked soft, voluptuous, but she knew that it was firm and skilled. His body, gods, that body, and his callused, tender hands. And his thick, glossy hair, how it had fallen around his face when she’d released it from its binding. 

“You’ve been drinking,” he told her cautiously, and she could hear the desire in his voice, echoing hers.

“We’ve all been drinking,” she said. “I’m not drunk. Not from the mead.”

“No?” He stepped closer. “From what, then?”

“You,” she said, laughing. His eyes heated, but she turned from him and sat down, her heart hammering. 

“You still don’t trust me,” he said, his shoulders slumping. 

She sighed deeply. “I’m sorry for that. You’re here with me now. I appreciate it. I just...I love you too much, Jon. I really do. It’s beyond all reason. I can’t let myself love like that again, not without the assurance Im loved in return. Especially not now. I don’t know all that much, anywhere near enough, about politics-“

“I don’t either.”

“You knew enough in that life to use me. To accept my alliance. And once I was used up, I was worthless to you.”

“That’s not true,” he said. 

“Maybe not. Maybe not from your perspective. But from where I stand, it’s true.”

“Dany, I only stabbed you because-“

“It wasn’t only that, Jon. You judged me for the Tarlys even though any Lord in Westeros would have done the same as I did. You told Cersei you’d pledged yourself to me, and told us all a whole lovely story about the importance of keeping your word and refusing to lie, but then you told the Northmen that you surrendered your crown to me, to save the North. Which we both know wasn’t true. I promised to help before you bent the knee. You judged me for wanting to take back my own ancestral home and seat, though you’d taken back your own. You supported Northern independence but failed to see that the Iron Islands deserved theirs as well. You never questioned whether I’d be safe with Jaime Lannister at Winterfell. Not in this life or the other one. Being completely honest, Jon, you never acted in any way like a man who loved. Only a man who needed my armies and dragons.”

“I know. I loved you, Dany. I just...the North... I was a bastard to them, for my entire life. They’d always looked down on me. When they chose me to be their king, it was the greatest honor of my life. They trusted me to lead them, and they felt betrayed when I bent the knee to you. I didn’t know how to make them see. I had already been murdered by by own men. My brother had already been murdered for loving a woman and breaking an alliance. I was angry at the North for for not trusting me. I was angry at myself. My father...my uncle...would have been able to make them respect an ally. But I was a bastard. I had only just gotten them to respect me, to agree to join with the free folk, who they hated, and then I gave away the crown they’d entrusted to me, to a Targaryen.”

“Then you shouldn’t have done it. When you did, I even asked you about them. I said I hoped I deserved it. I wasn’t sure I did.”

“You said that. But you also said you were born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. You were always confident, never afraid. You seemed to think you were invincible, and I guess I started to believe it, too.”

“I wasn’t,” she said softly. “I was afraid to show weakness. Fear was a weakness I couldn’t afford to let anyone see. I realized that was a mistake, but now I fear I’ve shown too much weakness.”

“Weakness? You? You’ve shown no weakness, Dany. Only kindness. Compassion. Empathy. Only the strong can show these, the weak aren’t capable of it.”

“I must get better at politics. All the intrigue and deceit and slippery dealings with dishonest men. Daario Naharis once told me I wasn’t born to rule, I was born to conquer. I begin to fear that he’s right. There’s an honesty in conquering. The ruling part seems to be harder for me, because...because your sister Sansa is right, too. You can’t trust anyone. I used to think that a queen who trusts no one is as foolish as a queen who trusts no one. But...there’s just no perfect solution to anything.”

“Ser Davos told me once, you go on. You fight for as long as you can. You clean up as much of the shit as you can. Maybe that’s all we can do.”

“Maybe.”

“I love you. I know I behaved like a fool. Like a hypocrite. I’m sorry, Dany, I-“

“We both behaved like fools. Do you know what Sansa said to me yesterday? She thought I was full of myself and expected everyone to be impressed with me.”

“She just doesn’t stop, does she?” Jon said, running his hands through his hair.”

“But she’s right. I was a little full of myself. I did expect everyone to be impressed with me.”

“And why shouldn’t you?” Jon said. “You-“

“Because not everyone is going to know my story. That I hatched my dragons after a terrible loss. A failure, really. I think that there is a consensus that I was handed my dragons, that I was given power, that I’ve had everything handed to me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Of course it isn’t. But people don’t know that. They see me as a conqueror with unmatched power. They don’t know what my plans are, or how I got to where I am. If they don’t know my intentions, how can they not believe it heroic to stand against me?”

Jon sighed, and she started to laugh. 

“What’s funny?”

“This is not what you came to my cabin for,” she said.

He looked at her, his eyes fierce. “Aye, it is. I want to know you, Dany. I want to be with you. In every way. Not just in your bed. In your life, and at your side. You asked me to build the new world with you, and I was terrified of what that meant. Our isolation of you, our stupidity and ingratitude and fear made you lose everything. I turned on you. I abandoned you. I know what I did to you was reprehensible. But in that moment, when you asked me to be with you, I wanted to. I swear I did. But I was afraid you would kill everyone in your way.”

Daenerys shuddered. “I know,” she said softly. “But when I burned Varys, I didn’t burn Sansa. She was the one who told Tyrion. I told you I couldn’t forgive him, but I didn’t burn him when I found out he’d freed Jaime. And if he hadn’t freed Jaime, Jaime would not have died. Everyone was so ready to believe I was a monster, and they glossed over their own monstrosity.”

And I was poisoned, she thought. But she couldn’t tell him that. It would hurt him too much. 

“Dany. I love you. I can’t ever make amends. I don’t know what else I can tell you to make you understand that you mean more to me than anything else. I loved you then. I didn’t show you that, and I don’t know how to show you now. But this...talking with you, about your plans and fears, your thoughts. I want to see the world when you’re finished with it. I know I’ve forfeited the right to build that world with you. But I want to.”

“Your place is in the North.”

“My place is by your side. And your place is by mine, Dany. You knew it then, and in my fumbling stupidly, I convinced you otherwise. But you know it. Deep down, you know it.”

“Be that as it may, it’s hard for me to believe, deep down, that you won’t betray me for your family.”

“You are my family. You are my duty. You are the love of my life, and I’ll never abandon you or betray you again. I’m yours. And you’re mine. I know you still love me. I see it, I feel it. And you know I love you. You’re scared, and I understand that. I know it’s mostly my fault. You don’t have to trust me again. But I have to keep trying.”

Daenerys walked to the wooden table where Yara had left a jug of mead, pouring herself and Jon a goblet. She handed him his, and sat down again. 

“And if I did? Then what?”

“Then maybe you’ll consider marrying me.”

“You would have to leave the North. Be king of the five or six or seven kingdoms.”

“Prince consort, I think is the title, no?” He smiled teasingly at her.

“No. I would want you to be my king, Jon. From the history I’ve learned since being here, it seems our family has a history of the king having all the power and occasionally making concessions for the queen, who had no official power. Females were not allowed to inherit, even if they were the first born. That’s over. But I’m not looking to have the same dynamic they had, with the gender roles reversed. I want us to be equals. If we disagree, we present a united front and argue in private.”

“But if we disagree, it’s your word that’s the final arbiter, whereas it was the king’s word before.”

“All right. But I want you to present to me why you think I’m wrong, if you do. I want an equal. That’s why I fell in love with you. You were fierce and strong and courageous. You weren’t willing to bend the knee to me until you felt I’d earned it by your own measure, not hearsay. Then when we went North-“

“What happened when we went North will never happen again.”

She studied him. She wanted so much to believe him. 

But for now...they were on a ship in the middle of the sea, and he’d joined in a foreign war. For her. Not for her alliance, not because of something he thought she could do for him.

They drank their mead in silence, and she was watching him. She wanted him. There was no sense in denying it. She loved him. And she was afraid. If she allowed herself to love him again, to let him fully in, into her heart, into her bed, she would be his. And he may say he was hers, but was he?

His coming to Essos had to mean something. And what if she did indeed die after this? Everyone seemed quite convinced she was going to. 

She didn’t want to die. But after what had happened in that other life, after she’d burned all those people, she had wondered if she even deserved to live. If she deserved to be the queen.

Finding out she’d likely been poisoned in that other life had been freeing in a way, but also terrifying. Because it could happen again, any time, and everyone would assume that it was just that ‘Targaryen madness.’ The only people who knew, were Tyrion and Bran. Even Qyburn, who had done the poisoning in that life, didn’t know that life had even happened. 

No one would defend her. Thousands would die. And so would she. 

She shook the thoughts out of her head. 

In the here and now, she was going to war. She would bring her forces to ally with the enslaved people in the Bay of Dragons, Volantis if need be. They would win, she was certain. And then she might die.

Why deny herself and Jon what they both wanted?

It was reckless to love him. But it was reckless for her to be here, instead of back in Kings Landing being treated. 

Maybe she wanted to be reckless, so close to the end.

“What are you thinking?” Jon asked.

“I’m thinking, if I die after this war, I’ll have achieved what I wanted. And the world will be better than it was when I was born.”

Jon shuddered. “If you die, the world can only be darker, because you’re not in it.”

“And I’m thinking its dangerous for me to love you like I did before. But if these are to be my last days, I want to live them fully.”

“Please don’t talk like that, Dany.”

“Do you want me?”

His gaze fixed on her then, smoldering. 

“Aye,” he said, his voice low.

She stood, and he did as well, and then her mouth was on his. His hands went to her dress, pulling at it, and she was tugging at his clothes as well.

Once they’d pulled each other’s clothes off, they fell across the bed, their mouths devouring. 

She’d missed the feel of his body, hard and muscled, his mouth on hers, and then trailing her skin, igniting her. His hands were on her breasts now, and her own were running down his back. He gripped her hips then, plunging his cock into her, thrusting deep and filling her. She arched her back, meeting each thrust with her own. 

They rode each other, climbing toward an apex that set them both moaning and gasping, the pleasure unbearably exquisite. 

Then they lay in each other’s arms, sweating and trembling. 

She curled up close to him, and he wrapped his arms around her. 

“I love you,” he murmured into her hair.

“I love you,” she whispered, softly, in wonder that it should seem so simple when they both knew it wasn’t.

She listened to his heart under her ear, beating steadily under its scars. 

She drifted off into sleep, allowing herself to enjoy this time with him.


	37. Chapter Thirty Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gets a little closer to Alissa, and spends some time with Arya.  
Bran gives some new information to Dany et al. 
> 
> This is a short one, I hope you enjoy it! :-)

Chapter Thirty Seven 

Sansa thought this had been a good day. One of the best in some time, certainly the best since she’d returned to Kings Landing.

She’d walked with Alissa at her side, the other children in neat lines, surrounded protectively by guards and by the other workers. They had visited the site where the new buildings for the orphanage were being erected first. The builders were proud of their work, showing where the pipes would run to provide fresh water, describing how the new sewers would work, and best of all, a few of the glittering structures, with their glass walls, for the adjacent glass gardens, were already built. The builders explained to them how they would be able to grow their own food in the future. 

Even Hayana looked impressed. 

Sansa was amused at herself; She’d taken it upon to herself show them what Daenerys was doing. She was also concerned that Daenerys hadn’t thought of it herself. 

Sansa remembered what Lord Willas had told her moons ago at Winterfell; that Daenerys was not particularly good at political maneuvering. That seemed to be an understatement.

Daenerys had already done more in the moons since she’d taken Kings Landing, than the last few monarchs together had done in the entire time of their reign.

But the people didn’t seem to know this. Obviously the builders knew. 

Westeros was vast; even the women working with the orphans had thought the projects would not be finished, so how could the smallfolk anywhere else know?

Sansa made a point to show them that the glass, the most expensive component, carefully made by the Myrish who Daenerys had brought here and paid handsomely, was already made and glistening in the early winter sun. 

Showing them the larger glass garden that was being built in the Crownlands would have to wait for another day. There was too much to see in the city. 

The area that had been Flea Bottom, the sweetness of the air that had once reeked of excrement, the bakers giving out bread, Sansa wanted them to see it all. 

Daenerys needs someone on her council who can tell people, show people, what she’s doing, Sansa thought. A Master of...what? Image? She wished that she’d seen all this sooner, she could have approached her about it before she’d sailed to Essos.

But of course, Daenerys might not even agree to that. She was frightfully misguided about how to create an image. Sansa knew that when Daenerys had decided to send food to the people during the siege, it had been Willas Tyrell who had put her sigils on the packages. And the little queen had been cold as ice when she’d arrived at Winterfell. 

Sansa suspected that Daenerys had gotten so accustomed to people in Essos knowing who she was, that she expected people to understand her motives here as well. Sansa almost felt sad for her. How frustrating it must be to do so much and get so little gratitude. And in the North, Sansa knew that much of that had been her doing. Maybe she could make it up to her, at least a little. 

They reached the area where the Sept had stood, and Sansa almost redirected the group, in fear for Alissa’s feelings, when the girl gasped and rushed forward. 

She hurried to the area, and Sansa went after her, stopping short just as the small girl had. There was a garden there now; lush and full of color, some trees, a few of them evergreens, winter flowers among the summer and autumn blossoms, that would offer bright reminders of color and life and lushness once winter rested its cold hands over the city.

At its center were benches, but what had caught Alissa’s attention was a large marble slab, on which had been carved dozens of names. 

Sansa looked at the names, recognizing Queen Margaery, Lord Mace Tyrell, Ser Loras Tyrell. As she was reading, Alissa pointed to one of the names. 

Grayce Campiron. 

“That’s my mother,” Alissa murmured. 

Sansa’s eyes widened. She could see the other women and children leaning over the slab as well, and naming the people they’d known. Sansa guessed that everyone in Kings Landing must know at least one person who died in the blast. 

Somehow Daenerys had gotten all the names and had them carved here. 

Alissa turned to Sansa, her eyes full of tears.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” she murmured. 

Sansa squeezed her little hand. 

The trip back, Alissa was quiet, but Sansa could see on her face that she was...not happy, but...she couldn’t find the words. 

“Everyone will remember my mother’s name now,” Alissa told her when they returned. “I know it was your idea to go there. That’s the garden I asked for. You knew it.”

Sansa hesitated. She hadn’t known about the garden or the memorial, though she vaguely remembered hearing about it, now that she was here. She just wanted Alissa and the others to feel the hope she’d felt. 

“I wanted you to see-“

She was cut off by Alissa’s little arms, suddenly thrown around her. “Thank you,” she said. 

Sansa held her. 

After the children had eaten, they were clearly overtired, and went to bed earlier than usual. Sansa watched Alissa take a few bites of stew, and felt as if she could weep. 

She and the other women cleaned up, and as Sansa was leaving, Hayana stepped in front of her.

“You were right,” she conceded, her steel eyes fixed on her. 

“I thought if you saw it with your own eyes, you’d know she’s not going to break her promises. That she has the resources, and she’s going to follow through.”

Hayana nodded. “I appreciate it. Of course, I’m still skeptical. After what I’ve seen, I have to be.”

“Same,” Sansa admitted. “And I’ve certainly tried to make her life harder since I got here. It wasn’t until I saw the city, and watched her in the throne room, that I changed my mind. That, and she stopped me from saying something that would have ruined me.”

“She stopped you from saying something that would have ruined you? After you...”

“After I deliberately tried to ruin her. Yes.”

“You understand, then, why I fear she may be weak. Foolish. Gives too much to her enemies.”

Sansa sighed. “I’m not her enemy. And we...we were almost friends. When she stayed with us at Winterfell. I ruined that, I doubt we’ll ever be friends now.” Sansa hated the regret coiling through her. “But she’s compassionate. It would be a mistake to think she’s weak. That’s just a fair warning.”

“She’s certainly given you too much leeway.”

Sansa sighed. “She has. But I am going to try to make that up to her.”

Hayana nodded. “Well, what you did today, gave a lot of us a hefty dose of hope. And we needed it, that’s for certain. So thank you.”

Sansa walked toward the great hall to take her evening meal, and saw Arya, who grinned at her. 

“Look at you,” she said.

“This is what we wear to take care of orphans,” she said, and as she saw the serving women, turned back to Arya. “I need to get back to my room.”

“I’ll come with you,” she said. “Go on. I’ll bring food.”

She rushed to her chambers, not wanting Camyle to see her. 

Arya entered a few minutes later, bringing food as promised.

“So why are you hiding from the servers?”

Sansa flushed. “I’m not hiding from them.” At Arya’s look, she laughed. “All right, maybe a little.”

“Why?”

“They don’t know I’m a lady...or I was...and they hate highborns. They think Tyrion and I murdered Joffrey.”

Arya’s eyes lit up. “Did you?”

“No! Well, not intentionally, and Tyrion had nothing to do with it at all.” She explained what Baelish had told her, how they’d hidden the poison on her.

Arya looked at her admiringly. “I wish I’d been there. I’d have loved to kill him myself.”

Sansa laughed softly. “I’d have loved to see that.” 

“How do you like working with the orphans?”

“I love it. It’s heartbreaking, but I feel like I’m doing something. Helping. What about you? What have you been up to?”

“Daenerys asked me to keep an eye on her dragons,” Arya said. “Make sure no one harms them.”

Sansa laughed. “Who could harm a dragon?”

Arya shrugged. “She worries about them. They’re her children.”

“So you’re like a dragon governess.”

Arya grinned. “A little. She knows I love them.”

Sansa nodded, eating the pigeon pie Arya had brought to her room. 

“Thank you for bringing supper. It was a busy day. Daenerys hasn’t made any attempt to tell the people the things she’s accomplishing.”

“Too busy accomplishing them, probably,” Arya said.

“That may be true, Arya, but it’s not smart politically.”

Arya laughed. “She’s not really smart politically.”

“She has to be smarter.”

Arya sighed. “Sansa, please let’s not turn this into another Daenerys bashing session.”

“I’m not bashing her! I’m trying to help her. I spent today showing the orphans and workers everything she’s doing. I was angry at them, thinking they were ungrateful-“

“That’s ironic.”

“But how can they be grateful when they don’t know?”

“They’ll see eventually.”

“I understand that, Arya. But...Margaery Tyrell would have made sure they knew.”

“Okay.”

“I’m going to help her.”

Arya laughed. “Poor Daenerys.”

“Poor Daenerys?” Sansa demanded, offended. “You think my help is a burden?”

“I think if it’s at the point you of all people have to help her, her advisors have failed her.”

Sansa stared at her, then started to laugh. Arya laughed as well.

*************************

Tyrion walked toward Daenerys’ cabin with Ser Jorah and Daario Naharis. Kinvara told them that it was still morning in Kings Landing, and that Bran had agreed to “meet” with them through the glass candle each morning and evening to keep them updated on what the Masters were doing.

By now Tyrion had seen enough magic to believe it. 

As they approached, Jon stepped quietly out of the room, then looked at them, frozen. 

“Good morning. I was just...well, I...”

“We’re adults, Your Grace, you need not explain,” Tyrion assured him. “We’re meeting up in the next quarter of an hour in Captain Greyjoy’s chambers to light that glass candle and speak with Bran.”

Jon nodded and walked down the hall, ostensibly to get ready for the meeting.

Tyrion glanced at his companions, and could not help the twinge of pity for Daario, who stared after Jon with a pained expression.

Ser Jorah patted Daario’s back.

“It’s a perfect time,” he said. “She’ll be in a good mood.”

Daario glared at him, and they walked the rest of the way to her cabin.

Daenerys was indeed in a good mood. Her face had a glowing flush, and she was sitting at a table while one of the Dothraki women twisted her hair into its intricate braids. 

Tyrion had seen Daenerys and Missandei style each other’s hair a dozen times, but Missandei had stayed on at Kings Landing. It was almost disorienting to see someone else do it.

Daenerys was wearing her family’s red and black, and Tyrion thought she looked unearthly. Of course, the little queen would be stunning if she shaved her head and wore sackcloth, but today Tyrion caught his breath, overwhelmed for a moment. 

She turned to the three of them and smiled brilliantly, and for a moment the they stood in silence. 

“Good morning,” she said.

“It looks like you had a good night,” observed Daario. 

Tyrion expected the sour tone in Daario’s voice to annoy her, but her gaze softened, almost tender. 

“Don’t be angry,” She entreated. “Come in. Sit. Do any of you want some wine?”

“I don’t, thank you. We came to tell you Kinvara is planning to meet with Bran through that glass candle,” Ser Jorah told her. “We knew you’d want to be there. They’re doing it in the next quarter of an hour, in Captain Greyjoy’s cabin.”

She nodded, drinking from a goblet. “Perfect. That’s perfect.”

They nodded and took their leave. Ser Jorah headed toward Yara’s cabin, but Daario walked toward the galley and Tyrion followed him.

Daario poured himself some wine, and Tyrion followed suit. 

“Are you all right?” Tyrion asked him.

“The woman I love is fucking someone else. How would you feel?”

“The last time I found out the woman I loved was fucking someone else, I murdered both of them.”

Daario chuckled bitterly. “That’s not an option for me. I’d cut my own throat before harming her, and she’d cut my throat if I harmed him.”

“So I guess it’s drinking and brooding.”

“I can’t understand it. The man lets people disrespect her. He doesn’t stand up for her, doesn’t defend her.”

“You can’t help who you love,” Tyrion observed. 

“She deserves someone who will fight for her,” Daario said. 

“She does. And the King in the North has joined us to do just that.”

“Yet his own people treat her with disregard. And he does nothing to stop them.”

Tyrion sighed. He couldn’t explain Westerosi politics to a man who clearly saw things differently. And he could not deny the man had a point. 

They finished their wine and headed to Yara’s cabin, where Daenerys, Jon, Yara, Varys and several officers were gathered. 

Kinvara was lighting the large glass candle. 

A few of the people gathered looked skeptical until shapes began to form, the sea, Kings Landing, moving in to focus on Bran, who sat with Meera Reed.

Bran’s face seemed to focus on them as well.

“He can see us?” Tarly demanded.

“He can,” confirmed Kinvara. 

Bran proceeded to describe the plans the slavers had, and changes they’d made. 

The Golden Company was confirmed to be fighting for the Masters, but Daenerys was clearly unconcerned by that.

Bran gave her an overview of their strategy. 

“A group of them, though, have decided to try to sue for peace,” Bran said, and Daenerys laughed.

“Peace? Were they involved in taking Astapor and Yunkai?”

“Yes. And the two assassination attempts. But now they know you survived and you’re coming, and they’re afraid. They said you are merciful and will agree to peace negotiations-“

“They’re wrong,” Daenerys said, and Tyrion felt a chill crawl down his spine.

Tyrion glanced at Varys, who was looking at her warily, and then at Randyll Tarly, whose expression was the closest Tyrion had ever seen to a smile. Yara was grinning outright. Jon’s expression was unreadable. 

“Your Grace,” began Varys, and Daenerys glanced at him. 

“We can debate later, though you will not change my mind,” she told him. She turned back to the shadowy image of Bran. “Where will they be?”

“They plan to meet you when you arrive, and surrender. In exchange they want some kind of reparation for the loss of their slaves.”

Daenerys laughed again, but it was not a happy sound. “They should have asked before attacking my cities, and certainly before they hired assassins. Go on.”

Bran outlined further strategies, and they agreed to meet again the following morning.

Kinvara doused the candle, and Daenerys turned her eyes on Varys, her face expressionless.

“If you murder people who come to you for peace, it will not convince people to come to you for peace in the future,” Varys warned her.

“Good. People who have lost battles to me and accepted my terms, who then violate those terms, should not attempt to make peace with me. They will not get it.”

“Your Grace, if you kill them, this will only tell people that you-“

“They hired assassins to murder me! Even if I was foolish enough to be willing, what would that tell people? That they can do as they like, even going so far as to try to kill me, and I’ll allow it if they apologize. No.”

Varys looked at Jon. “What do you think?”

“They tried to kill her. If she doesn’t kill them, I will.”

“Whose side are you on?” Tarly stormed at Varys. “They sent assassins after her! Twice! Why are you even here?”

“I understand you’re angry,” Varys said placatingly. 

“This goes far beyond anger,” Tarly growled. “Pity for the men who tried to murder our queen, is a kind of treason against her. And I’m tired of your little treasons. How long before you commit great treasons?”

“I have not committed treason. But her father-“

Jon was across the room in a moment, catching Varys by the front of his robe and slamming him against the wall. 

“She’s not like her father,” Jon growled. “And the next time you compare her to him will be the last time.”

He released him and walked back to his chair, his hand briefly touching Daenerys’ shoulder in support. 

“Let’s go over the plan again,” he suggested.

“Assuming no one else has any ridiculous notions about our queen making peace with people who’ve tried to kill her,” Daario said, walking toward the map on the table. “We will be arriving here,” he pointed to a spot marking the port from which they’d left almost a year before. 

The conversation continued, and Tyrion glanced at Varys. He could not help but to feel for him, but Daenerys could not be expected to make peace with people who had tried to murder her.

What was Varys thinking?

Once the council ended, Daenerys turned to Varys. “We need to talk,” she told him. 

Tyrion stayed behind as well. He loved Daenerys, and Varys was his friend. He hoped fervently he could help them see each other’s perspectives.

“Like Lord Tarly, I’ve grown tired of this,” Daenerys said. “Perhaps you don’t consider it treason, but whatever it is, I’ve had enough of it. It’s like I told Tyrion, I’m an advocate of justice. I’ve tried to be just, to put myself into the positions of the other people I’ve met in all of this. I understand therefore, that something about Kings Landing has brought out the terrified child in Sansa. Otherwise I’d have executed her. I’ve tried to make concessions for the endless whining of lords who seek independence even though they cannot feed or defend themselves, otherwise I’d have told the North they can accept my rule or starve. Edmure Tully wanted me to allow him to choose who takes Harrenhal, and I’ve allowed that too. Frankly I never wanted for it to go to Bronn the murdering cunt who’d have shot my dragon and killed my allies anyway.”

“If I may say, Bronn-“ Tyrion began, but Daenerys cut him off.

“If I want your opinion, Lord Tyrion, I’ll ask for it. Otherwise you can leave or keep still.” Her eyes didn’t leave Varys’ face.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“But this...these men are slavers. I’ve given them multiple opportunities to make peace, I’ve won multiple battles against them. In return, they’ve broken peace pacts, rebelled repeatedly, and tried to have me murdered. These aren’t pathetic little lords in pathetic little keeps, suffering under tyrants or incompetents. These are slavers. They may whinge about their economy, but if they hadn’t built that economy on the blood and tears of people they’ve enslaved, they wouldn’t be dealing with me right now.”

“The Dothraki kept slaves once-“

“And now they don’t. I can assure you that if they do, they will be dealt with. I am not going to bend on this, Lord Varys. You may speak freely around me, but when you defend men who’ve attempted to harm me, we reach an impasse where I must question your motives.”

“You can’t think I wish you harm.”

“I can think you wish me harm. You saved my life with the tears of Lys poisoning, and I haven’t forgotten that. But here you are, defending men who attempted to murder me.”

“I apologize, Your Grace.”

She looked at him coldly. “I trust that you understand, if this comes up again I’ll have to exile you from the capitol. I have enough on my hands worrying about my enemies wishing me harm. I’ve had enough of worrying about it from my supposed allies.”

She turned and left the room.


	38. Thirty Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly interactions. Varys apologizes, Jon finds out about the poison, Missandei contemplates her position in Westeros, Sansa brings up her idea to Lord Willas. 
> 
> Thank you so much ReganX, 1thirteen3, and TaranTulas for your thoughts which have deepened my own thoughts on the political side of things, and thank you to ALL of you for your insights! 
> 
> I hope you all have a Happy and Healthy New Year!

Chapter Thirty Eight

Daenerys was well aware that she’d been drinking too much.

Lord Tyrion had entered her chambers, poured himself a goblet, and sat down across from her. 

She felt tense, waiting for him to defend Varys, or comment on her drinking.

She was angry at Varys, but more, she was hurt. Why was he encouraging her to make peace with men who’d been part of a plan to murder her?

She glanced at Tyrion, who was drinking his own mead and studying her.

“Say what you want to say,” Dany said in a rush. 

“You called Bronn a cunt,” he said. 

She looked at him sharply, then started laughing. “I did.” 

“You’ve been drinking quite a lot,” he observed.

“As have you,” she pointed out.

“Indeed I have. But I always have. You haven’t. Why so much?”

Daenerys looked down at the table, at her hands. “We’re going to war.”

“You’ve gone to war before. I don’t remember you drinking this much.”

“It was different,” she said, her voice low.

“Was it?”

“I was usually confident my dragons or armies would win, and I would survive.”

“You’re not confident of winning?”

“We’ll win,” she said firmly.

“And yet...?”

Daenerys curled her hands into fists, in impotent fury. 

“I’m dying, Tyrion. Every single person who knows anything about this has said so. This thing Qyburn wants to do, it’s experimental. I looked at the writings. He hasn’t done it on many people, and it may not do any good. It may already be too late. Everything is too late. Qyburn and all the rest think I should be dead already. Kinvara is talking about burning people. You know I won’t do that, and it’s too late for everything else.”

“Why didn’t you stay to have the work done?” Tyrion erupted, and Dany was surprised at his sudden fierceness. “You could have at least tried!”

“Tried? Something I don’t know will even help, leaving people to suffer?”

“You could have allowed your men to fight for you.”

“Tyrion, the Westerosi armies are not going to be prepared for the heat in Essos, any more than the Dothraki were for the cold in the North. They’ll be valuable, no doubt. But not enough to tip the scales. The Dothraki would not follow any of you. What would you tell them? I’m too sick to fight? They despise weakness. They’d go right back to Vaes Dothrak. The Masters have trained new Unsullied and they have the Golden Company. And if by some miracle you win, the Iron Bank will not uphold their word to call in debts and stop dealing with slavers, because they cannot count on a relatively small Unsullied army and Westerosi to keep coming back and winning.”

“If you die, what would make them uphold it?”

“Once they make the official proclamation, they can’t go back on it. It’s the First Rule in Braavos, no slavery. It will come out that there was a situation, they’ll say they fixed it as soon as they saw it. It cannot go back to how it was.” She sighed as a wave of sadness engulfed her. “It will probably exist in some way or another, always. But the power the slave trade has now, will be gone. Once the Iron Bank steps in, it will destroy the trade as we know it.”

After a few minutes of silence, Tyrion looked at her. “This is worth dying for?”

She nodded. “Of course it is. And I likely would have died anyway. This was what I lived for, for a time. I don’t want all we’ve done, me and the people who fought for their freedom, to disappear.” She sighed, drinking more mead. “In my vision, I was already dead by now. The time I have, is borrowed. So I’m going to fight this war. Help my people win lasting freedom. And for now, I will drink mead, and fuck Jon if he’s willing, and call Bronn a cunt if that’s what I want to do. And after...I’ll see what happens.”

Tyrion chuckled, but his expression was hurt. “You’re as mad as your father in a way, but you’ve turned it on yourself.”

“Maybe. But he burned people, didn’t he? I’m not burning myself.”

“You can’t burn yourself.” 

Daenerys laughed ruefully at that. “Valid point.”

“Well, I’ve always wondered what you’d be like as a drunk.”

Daenerys laughed again. “Don’t get your hopes up. Once we get closer to Essos I won’t be able to drink as much.”

“I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.”

Daenerys had enjoyed the afternoon spent with Tyrion. That evening, however, Varys came to her cabin to see her, and all the anger and hurt she’d felt that morning swept through her like a storm.

“What do you want?” She demanded coldly.

“I came to apologize, Your Grace.”

“You wanted me to make peace with-“

“I know, and I’m sorry. I was wrong.” He sat down. “I thought that an attempt to make peace should be accepted. But you’re right. You’ve made peace with them before. And they broke their word.”

“They tried to have me killed.”

“I know. But I’ve have always found that the innocents suffer the most in times of war. It’s best to avoid it where possible.”

“That may be, but allowing the Masters to live would only cause more innocents to suffer.”

Varys grimaced. “I realize that, Your Grace.”

“It seems you always judge my actions with a different measure than everyone else’s.”

He glanced at her, his expression strangely earnest. “I do. Of course I do.”

“Why?”

“Because...” he sighed. “Because you’re stronger. Look at Sansa Stark. She used everything in her arsenal to bring you down.”

“Yes. She did.”

“And it was quite inconvenient for you-“

“Inconvenient,” Daenerys said, unable to keep the bite from her voice.

“-but what would have happened if you used everything in your arsenal to bring her down?”

“She would be ashes.”

“And that’s why the measure is different.”

“No. I don’t accept that, and I’ll tell you why. Over time, someone might decide they don’t want me on the throne. They might prefer a male, or someone born in Westeros, which I already explained.”

“I don’t think you realize how much support you have. You’re already quite adored.”

“But what if I wasn’t? And who knows what will happen over time? I could easily be assassinated.”

You tried to do it yourself, she thought angrily. But she knew now he’d probably been manipulated, and fed false information by Qyburn in that life. Still, he’d attempted to murder her before she’d done any wrong.

“Easily? You?” Varys studied her. “I think it’s been well proven that assassinating you would be quite difficult. How many have tried? They’re all dead now. And you’re still here.”

“Not for much longer.” 

“I refuse to believe that.”

She laughed bitterly. “Refusing to believe it doesn’t make it any less true.”

“I can hope.”

“Varys, I need to know where your loyalties lie. I cannot make peace with people who fight to own other people. Who are only seeking peace with me because they failed to murder me. I don’t have much time left, but I’m not going to spend it doing my enemies’ work for them, and I can’t have my allies doing that, either.”

“Your Grace, I swear, my loyalties are with you. Now more than ever before. You’ve always surrounded yourself with advisors who would tell you what they truly thought. You’ve never wanted people who would tell you what you want to hear. I made a mistake. I’m sorry.”

“Having advisors who speak frankly and freely is one thing. I’ve asked you to tell me if I’m failing the people. Advisors who sympathize with those who try to murder me is something else.”

“Of course. You said to me once, that I’ve served many rulers, some terrible, some ineffective. You said you don’t know if I’d ever served a good ruler. Do you remember that?”

She nodded. She remembered. 

“You were correct about that. I’ve never served a good ruler. Robert wasn’t terrible, he just-“

“Robert was terrible,” Daenerys stormed, angry again. “He allowed my good sister and her children to be killed. He would have killed my brother and me. We were children. He would have killed Jon, his friend’s nephew.”

“I meant as a ruler. To the people. He wasn’t terrible for the people.”

“He was a major factor in running the kingdoms into debt.”

“He wasn’t a good ruler. But he wasn’t like Joffrey or your father. He had no real interest in being king. He was ineffective. But the people did not suffer terribly under him. You have made some mistakes, but you-“

“Have I?” She demanded archly. 

“Well...” he almost smiled. “I’m here trying to apologize. I don’t want to make you angry again.”

“Go on. I’m not going to be any more angry than I already am at you suggesting I spare men who would see me dead rather than give up their attempts to own and murder people.”

“With the North, you should have made a clearer outline on their paying you back-“

“I did!”

“Perhaps you did, but you should have gone over it with them more firmly, before paying the Iron Bank. Or refused to pay back the Iron Bank without their fealty. I understand you don’t want to force anyone to accept your rule. But if they don’t accept your rule, then they should not be given your protection.”

She sighed. “All right.”

“You told the North that Jon was trueborn, to protect his feelings and to inspire them, but he’s not.”

“I meant in the sense that-“

“It doesn’t matter what you meant, Your Grace. I know you care for him, but politically, he’s a threat to you. You cannot allow your heart to interfere with things like this. He’s not trueborn. You acknowledged that the annulment was invalid. That means the marriage was invalid.”

Daenerys had to take a deep breath, in order not to throw something at him.

Then why did you try to murder me to put him on the throne?

But she knew, they’d all been manipulated, and they played right into it. 

Still...

“You have plans for all Seven Kingdoms,” Varys was saying, “many of which will be not only be beneficial, but may be the difference between life and death for them. I saw your outlines. Aqueducts and glass gardens across the entire continent, for example. The lords will be more than happy to take credit for your work and investment. The smallfolk will be loyal to their lords then, not you.”

“Hasn’t it always been that way?”

“Perhaps. But you have many ideas for change. Revolutionary ideas. You want their loyalty. One example, you want to outlaw forced marriage. On the books, it’s already illegal. Edmure Tully attempted to use that to get out of marrying Roslin Frey. Yet he had to marry her just the same. The lords won’t like you attempting to abolish it. You were also willing to entertain the idea that one of Edmure Tully’s children may inherit the Twins.”

“I told him he must be fair to the other Freys-“

“You did. But Lord Edmure’s wife was Walder Frey’s fifth daughter. Her mother was his sixth wife. Her children are not in succession for the Twins, without murdering quite a few of her kin, or disinheriting them. I wonder why Tyrion didn’t say something.”

“Tyrion wasn’t there. Just me and Jon.”

“Ah. And Jon is not politically savvy either.”

“Yes he is! He-“

“He came to you at Dragonstone to ask you for an alliance, but an alliance means you help each other. He offered you nothing, and if it were not for your own kindness, his kingdom would be a graveyard. He did not communicate properly the need to come together nearly well enough to his own people, and they, along with his own sister Sansa, from whom I would have expected better, spent the first fortnight alienating an ally who was the one thing standing between them and certain death. He was murdered by his own men because he was unable to communicate to them a solid enough reason for bringing the free folk south of the Wall. He may have some positive traits and is certainly an inspiring leader. But no, he does not have a talent for politics.”

Daenerys sighed. “He’s a good leader.”

“Yes. He is. And you are a good ruler. But neither of you are particularly good at politics.”

She laughed. “Well, I’m not going to get any better in the next moon. And I’m not going to Essos to play politics, nor to win yet another battle, to make yet another treaty with them.”

“You’ll just slaughter them all.”

“Bran has assured me he will let me know which ones were not involved in trying to restore the slavers cities or assassinate me. But as for the rest? Yes. I’m going to slaughter them all.”

Varys nodded. “I know you’re not like your father. But serving your father...I suppose has scarred me in a way.”

She sighed. “We all have old wounds that bleed when we touch them. But I will not be swayed in this. I already know what they will do, what they have done. I’ve fought them for too long. I imagine by now they’ve already harmed too many innocents.”

“I thank you for having this audience with me. I apologize again for my suggestion to accept their offer for peace. It’s...hard for me. To be unwilling to accept peace. War is terrible.”

“Yes. War is terrible. And I wish there was a way to do this without it. But there isn’t.”

*********************

The galley was reasonably quiet, and Jon sat down with a mug of ale. Tyrion was sitting nearby, and moved closer to him.

“Are you still angry at me?” Tyrion asked him, and there was a slight slur to his words.

“I’m angry at all of us. Except her, oddly,” he said. 

Tyrion nodded, and drank deeply from his own mug. “It’s quite terrible to have an atrocity on my head, that I committed in another life. Treason. Betrayal. Conspiracy. Incompetence. And I don’t remember any of it. I’m glad I haven’t committed it, of course. But there’s no making up for it. It just weighs.”

Jon nodded. “It weighs on her, too. You’d have no way to make up for it in that life either.”

“I wonder if it weighs on her as much now. Maybe lighter. But...maybe heavier, because...because how could she prevent it from happening again? She’ll never get a taster.”

Jon glanced at him quizzically. “That’s true, she won’t. Are we talking about that other life, or her poisoning?”

Tyrion glanced at him. “The other life. The burning.”

“I won’t let that happen again. I’ll never let her feel alone like that again. I’ll never let her shatter like that. If she has losses, if she’s hurting and devastated, I’ll be there for her. I’ll never...” he broke off in the middle of his impassioned promises, drinking deeply. 

He was concerned about Tyrion, who had finished off his mug of wine, and immediately poured another. The ship did not have goblets, just thick large mugs, and Tyrion was filling his, draining it, and refilling it rapidly. His movements were clumsy, his speech slurred. Jon knew Tyrion spent most of his days in some state of drunkenness, but it didn’t usually show, not like this.

“How much have you drank today?” Jon asked.

“A bit more than usual, I suppose. I...I had a conversation with our queen earlier today. A wholeheartedly depressing conversation. And I’ve just been...lost in my own thoughts since then. I’ve ruined the life of every woman I’ve ever loved. I killed my mother coming into the world. Tysha. Shae. Even Cersei and Myrcella. And now Daenerys.”

“You haven’t ruined Daenerys’ life. At least not this life.”

“No? If I hadn’t sent that letter to Jaime, Cersei would never have known that Daenerys was at Winterfell. She never would have been poisoned.” His eyes sparked for a moment. “Although maybe...maybe she would have. Qyburn may have told her.”

“Qyburn?” 

“He was Cersei’s Master of Whispers,” Tyrion said. 

Jon frowned. “Does he have informants that far North?”

Tyrion sighed. “He had them everywhere, I suspect. He seems so harmless, doesn’t he?”

Jon gave a small, bitter laugh. “I only met him after he’d burned down half the capitol. Hard to see him as harmless.”

Tyrion was studying him now, though his eyes looked bleary. 

“What is it?” Jon asked.

“He’s more cunning than all of us combined,” Tyrion told him. “And I’m not supposed to tell you about it. I promised her I wouldn’t.”

“Promised who?” Jon asked.

“Daenerys. She said it would only hurt you. But if it happens again...”

“If what happens again? She burns a city? She won’t. I told you, I won’t let it happen again.”

“You won’t be able to stop it. And then...she may just die. She said she’s dying. She doesn’t believe Qyburn can save her.”

Jon winced. “I knew that already. She’s not even going directly back to Kings Landing after the war.”

“Why not?” Tyrion demanded. 

“She wants to see Valyria before she dies,” Jon said, and drank more of his ale. 

“She...does she ever think? Before making decisions like this?” 

Jon could see that Tyrion was angry again, and under that anger, there was a deep and searing grief. 

“What would you have her do? She thinks she’s going to die, and...” Jon’s voice caught in his throat. “And she might be right. Why should she not want to see it? To see all she can, to enjoy herself before...before she’s gone? She’s had little enough joy. Her whole life has been one struggle after another. She spent her childhood in exile, she spent her youth enslaved by a forced marriage, and her adult life trying to make the world better. When does she just get to do what she likes?” 

Jon hadn’t realized that his voice was getting louder, harsher, that he was yelling now, and Tyrion watched him. 

“Of course,” Tyrion finally said. “She should do what she wants to.”

“Why didn’t she want you to tell me that Qyburn was cunning? Seems I could have figured that out on my own.”

“She doesn’t want to hurt you. She said it would only hurt you. But...it seems to me, knowing could be helpful. In case it happens again.”

“It’s not going to fucking happen again, how many times do I have to repeat this? And Qyburn’s duplicity is hardly a thing that could hurt me...unless his plans with the writings are intended to harm her.”

“No. Sarella Sand read them. She said it’s risky, but not impossible.”

“Then what was it?”

Tyrion poured yet more wine into his mug. “He told Daenerys his long term plan for her downfall. When he was serving my sister.”

Jon frowned. “What was it?”

“Varys’ little birds became loyal to Qyburn. Qyburn had informants everywhere. He was going to use that to build mistrust. All my plans, all Varys’ information, everything was wrong. He was going to drive us all against her and then poison her.”

“He’s not her enemy now,” Jon said cautiously, though he felt a sudden rage at Qyburn. 

“No.”

“So...was it him, who sent the assassin? To poison her with tears of Lys?”

Tyrion shook his head. “No. That was my sister. Jon, he wanted to poison her with basilisk blood. To make her commit an atrocity, to make her own people turn against her. In that vision she had...” he broke off.

Jon felt a chill, crawling down his spine and into his belly. 

“You think he might have had her poisoned with basilisk blood?”

“I asked Bran. He did. He had a little girl do it. The girl who was trying to kill her for Varys. Daenerys didn’t want me to tell you. She said it would only hurt you. But if it happens again, it’s good for you to know. You might be able to stop a tragedy.”

“If she was poisoned...it would have worn off. She would have...been herself again.” 

“Yes.”

“And I killed her. Her and our babe.”

Tyrion closed his eyes, shuddering. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely.

Jon stood, suddenly. “I have to go to her,” he said, and stormed toward her cabin, banging against her door. Her guards were staring at him, but he didn’t care. The horror of it, of his actions, his inactions, and now this, the injustice of it, was rushing through him in a flood of loathing for himself, for everything and everyone. 

She called for him to come in, and he entered, walking quickly to where she sat with her mead and maps. He dropped to his knees in front of her, wrapping his arms around her waist, his head resting against her legs. He felt her hand in his hair, stroking it.

“What happened?” She asked softly.

“I’m sorry,” he said miserably. “I know I’ve said that before. I know it means nothing. But I’m so sorry.”

“It means something, Jon. I’m sorry, too.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I have much to be sorry for. I should not have demanded you surrender your independence. I never did anything like that before. I wanted people to follow me by their own choice. I agreed to the Iron Islands’ independence. I lost sight of that. I see now that I should not have burned the Tarlys. I should have been more sympathetic when you told me about your parents. I certainly shouldn’t have burned the city.”

“You never used me. You put everything you had at risk for me, and lost it all. And I abandoned you. And then I murdered you, and...I didn’t know you’d been poisoned.”

She stiffened; he felt it. “Poisoned,” she repeated carefully. 

“I didn’t even think...if I’d waited...you’d have been...you again...and like a coward, I...”

“Where did you hear about the poison?”

“Tyrion told me.” 

He felt her sigh, deeply. “I don’t know anymore why I tell him anything.” 

He looked up at her. “Dany, why didn’t you tell me?”

“How does it help you to know? I thought it would only hurt you. And for what? None of it happened now. All that happened in that life, happened already. It’s done. Why tell you something that might make you feel worse than you already do?”

“Because if someone tries something like that again, I would know what to look for. I could...maybe stop it. Protect you.”

She bit her lip. “Jon...” her voice was barely above a whisper. “The thing is, I never thought I could have been poisoned. Lord Willas told us about it, about the effects of that poison, but it never crossed my mind. I thought I’d actually...” she shuddered. 

“Of course you did. Everyone was saying you would. You had the idea in your head that the only thing stopping you was them. But it wasn’t, Dany.”

“I was so angry, Jon. Maybe I’d have done it anyway. It’s unforgivable. But I get rash when I’m angry, and I don’t think things through, I just act.”

“I do, too.”

“You’ve never burned a city. Murdered innocents.”

“Dany, neither did you. Not now. And if I hadn’t...murdered you...”

“If it wasn’t the poison, I might have burned the world. And it it was, then when it wore off, I’d have killed myself, most likely. How could I live with myself after a thing like that?” 

“Dany, if the effects of the poison-“

“It doesn’t matter. You remember the city. What it looked like after. All those people. You said it yourself. Children. I can’t imagine trying to rule people after that. I...I wanted for people to love me. Then I thought if I couldn’t rule by love, I would have to rule by fear. But I wasn’t planning to burn the city when I said that. I was thinking to kill my enemies. Not innocents.”

“King Stannis told me once that if men don’t fear you, they won’t obey you. It’s not an uncommon way of thinking.”

“Lady Olenna said the same. I know it’s not uncommon. But...Lord Tyrion said if fear is all you have, your power is brittle. Because everyone wants to kill you or betray you.”

“Sometimes they’ll betray you anyway,” Jon said softly, bitterly. 

Daenerys nodded. “Sometimes they will. But if they fear you too much, they’ll feel as if they have to betray you. Jon, I don’t want people I’m ruling to be afraid of me. And I know well I can’t make them love me.”

“A lot of them do.”

“Maybe some of them do. But I remember when I met your people. Your sister. I said she didn’t have to be my friend, but...but if she couldn’t respect me...”

“You never finished the thought,” he observed.

“If she couldn’t respect me then neither would anyone else in the North. And in the tender period of a new reign, that’s more important than anything else, love or fear.”

“They didn’t respect you at first. But Dany, you earned their respect. You didn’t try to take the North’s independence this time. And you fought like...like all the legends we grew up reading about. I don’t know what they’re going to choose as far as independence. But they respect you.”

Daenerys poured herself more mead, then poured him some as well.

She’s drinking too much, Jon thought. But he knew it might not matter. She might be dying. It might be over soon, and he was not going to stop her from enjoying the time she had left.

“Maybe. Maybe they do. They hated me so much at one time. It’s hard to imagine that they might...might not.”

“Dany, it’s not like that now. I know you don’t believe anything I say anymore-“

“That’s not true. I don’t mistrust everything you say. Just...”

“Just what’s between us? You don’t believe I love you.”

“I believed it then. In that life. And...then everything happened. I want to believe you.” She blinked and Jon new she was holding back tears. “I want so much to take your word. I wanted you to love me. I thought you did. And...now I know you didn’t.”

He sighed. “Maybe I didn’t.”

She looked at him, surprised. Not by the words, but his saying them out loud, admitting them. 

“I know I thought I did,” he went on. “I was in awe of you. You were beautiful, you were fierce and strong and kind. I was angry at you about the Tarlys.” He saw her expression. “Let me finish. I know it’s a little hypocritical when you think about the laws of Westeros, what they’d done to Highgarden, their refusal to bend the knee or take the Black...and all those things. But...what if you found out I’d killed Missandei’s parents? You might understand why, but you-“

“Missandei’s parents were Naathi. They’re pacifists.”

“All right, but you have an idea of-“

“Yes. I have an idea.”

“And then you must understand what I felt. Sam was my best friend. And I really felt like I didn’t know you.”

“You started looking at me as they did. As the North did.”

“Maybe a little. I still knew you were good. I just...I was a little afraid of you. Afraid of what you might do. I admired you. I feared you. You were like all my childhood stories come to life. I loved you in a way, I swear I did. But with the war against the dead, my family and people feeling I’d betrayed them, my identity sending my entire world crashing around me...I know it will seem like an excuse, and not a very good one. But I didn’t have time to explore what I was really feeling. You are larger than life, Dany. I wasn’t fair to you. We all expected the impossible from you, because we all thought you could do the impossible. It’s like we all forgot that you’re a human being, a vulnerable woman under all that made you our hero.”

“I wasn’t anyone’s hero in Westeros,” she said, and he could hear the hurt in her voice. “They all hated me.”

“You were mine. And I got caught up in that. This otherworldly, exquisitely beautiful heroine with dragons and armies, like something out of a story. The Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains, the Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. To even think for a minute, that I could be with you...a bastard, with no land, only a title given in wartime, begging you for armies to save my home. And then to realize you wanted me. Loved me. It’s as I’ve told you before, it was the most selfish thing I’ve ever done. To be with you. You made me feel alive. For the first time since I had died. That time together on the ship to White Harbor, I started to know you. But the time wasn’t enough, and everyone was against us. I should have fought for you. For us. But I was lost. I didn’t love you enough. I didn’t love myself enough. It’s not going to be like that now, Dany. I’m not the same person. You’re not the same person.”

“I’m the same person, Jon, and so are you. We just know better now.”

“I love you now. Not the love of a stupid scared boy meeting a fantasy in the flesh. But the love of a man, who knows and appreciates the boundaries and achievements of a truly amazing woman. I know you can’t believe it now, and gods, I can’t say I blame you after what we put you through. But I will do anything for you, Dany. I will never abandon you again. Never.”

She leaned forward and kissed him, and he fell against her, kissing her back.

He lifted her and carried her to the bed, his mouth still on hers. 

Their hands went to each other’s clothing, pulling at it until they’d exposed each other, then their greedy hands and mouths set upon devouring, their bodies curling into each other needfully. 

Daenerys stretched across the bed, smiling sleepily at Jon, who lay watching her.

“Jon, what do you know about ruling?”

He laughed. “Nothing.”

She rolled onto her belly, propping herself up on her elbows and facing him. 

“Yes, you do. You were Lord Commander of the Nights Watch. You’re the King in the North. Tell me what you learned, what you did.”

“Well...we had to dig latrines.”

She started to laugh. “That’s the first thing you thought of? Latrines?”

“Well, what did you do, when you were ruling?”

“I’m asking you,” she said. “We’ll get to me.”

Jon thought about it. “I executed a man for refusing to follow an order. I led battles...I avenged Lord Commander Mormont. I brought the free folk south of the Wall so they wouldn’t be killed, in exchange for their fighting men to join us in the war with the dead. And then I was murdered.”

Daenerys reached over and took his hand. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. 

“I was always having to think about things like food and supplies and keeping the buildings in good repair, and...” he broke off. 

“You liked it,” she said, smiling.

“I liked it and hated it.”

She laughed. “I have to say the same.”

“Now you.”

“I was in a different situation. When I took the cities, I had no intention of ruling them.”

“No?”

“I took them because I’d been sold myself.” She sighed. “I hated the idea of people, children, being enslaved. It hurts still, to think about. But breaking chains and wheels are one thing. Crushing an unjust and evil regime. Ruling, building something in its place, is something else.”

“Aye, it is.”

“Captain Naharis once told me I wasn’t meant to rule. He said I’m a conqueror.”

“I don’t know about that, Dany. You’ve been ruling for a few moons now, and it’s good. Really good.”

“Is it?” She stood, and paced the room. “I don’t have time to get any better. But when I’m gone, I want to leave something good.”

“A good world,” he quoted. 

She laughed bitterly, her eyes dark, and Jon was sorry he said it; he knew she was thinking of the day she’d spoken those words. The ruined throne room, ash and snow falling around them.

Jon stood up, walking to her. “Dany. The world you’re building now...it’s a good one.” He wrapped his arms around her, and she leaned into him. He knew she was restless. 

Then her mouth was on his again. They fell back across the bed, ensconced in each other as they had been all those moons ago and in another life.

***********************

Missandei had been angry when Grey Worm had first asked her to stay behind at Kings Landing. She wanted to be with him, with Daenerys, with their armies. Fighting or at least supporting them. 

After Daenerys had told her about her vision, Missandei had asked if she could tell Grey Worm about it as well. Daenerys had assured her that she’d intended to tell him herself; that the two of them, and Ser Jorah, were her dearest and most trusted friends. 

Missandei knew that she’d died in that vision, but she’d still been surprised and angry that Grey Worm wanted her to stay behind. 

She’d gone to Daenerys to ask her to support her decision to join them; and of course the queen assured her that she was free and could do as she liked; but Missandei could see that Daenerys was afraid. 

She decided to stay. She didn’t want the two of them to have more to fear; but now she herself feared. If they died...she shook her head. She would not allow herself to dwell on that.

She walked through the halls of the Red Keep, feeling lost. 

Lord Willas had approached her, flushing and kind as was his way.

“My Lady, I wanted to ask you...and of course I understand if you are not able, I can only imagine what you must be feeling with the man you love and your closest friend away at war...are you up to your duties? Please don’t think I or anyone else would judge you harshly if not. But-“

“My duties?”

“You’re Hand of the Queen. In her absence it falls to you and me to rule in her stead.”

“Is there a thing that must be done? I understand the queen’s projects are running smoothly.”

“Yes, they are. But we are having a council today with the Northern lords. Most of the other lords have sworn fealty, and have already left the Keep to go back to their own. Winter is upon us, they are needed at home. I imagine the Northerners more than anyone wish to get back. But they have to decide what they wish to do.”

Missandei agreed to attend the council.

Lord Willas sat at the table with Missandei at his right and Sarella at his left. The rest of the small council, at least those who had not joined the war, along with Lady Olenna, sat around them. 

The Starks sat at the center of the Northern table. Sansa hadn’t intended to join them, but Lord Willas had convinced her; Lady or not, she was a Stark and had political acumen. And she was a Northerner regardless of title. 

“As you have been apprised, our queen has agreed to a loan to carry your kingdom through spring,” Lord Willas began. “She does not wish to force anyone to follow her. However, you understand that if you choose independence, the loan must be repaid.”

“How long do we have to repay the loan?” Lord Manderly asked. “And will there be any mitigation in that debt, since many of our men have gone to fight her war in Essos?”

“My understanding is that your king has agreed to reward those men individually,” Lord Willas responded. “Our queen is not in a position to offer Northern land as a reward. But if they wish, she may grant them Southern land, gold, or knighthoods here if they so wish.”

“It seems to me that the queen...your queen, that is, does not want our fealty. I brought this up with King Jon as well. She has a grudge against us because we were-“

“I don’t like to interrupt, but I’m afraid I must,” Lord Willas said. “If the queen had a grudge against you, she would not have offered your kingdom a loan. She could just as easily left you to starve.”

“I understand that, My Lord,” Manderly responded, then frowned. “Or is it Your Grace?”

Lord Willas flinched as if he’d been hit. “It’s absolutely not ‘Your Grace.’ I’m not the king.”

“You’re the queen’s heir.”

“Yes, and the queen is alive, thank the Seven.”

Manderly nodded. “My Lord, I’m not suggesting that she despises us or wishes us harm. But we voted in favor of fealty, at our king’s recommendation. With winter upon us, he has said that the Seven Kingdoms should band together during this time. Many of us disagreed, but we voted to be part of the Seven Kingdoms. Then Queen Daenerys offered him a loan and asked that he have us vote again.”

“Queen Daenerys does not wish to coerce you or anyone to follow her. She had always ruled her people-and served them-by their choice.”

“I understand that, but-“

“If you choose fealty, you will be part of the Seven Kingdoms. She will consider your safety and well being to be her own responsibility. If you choose to be independent, she will loan you the coin you need to ensure that the North will not face the hunger and misery you’ve had in prior winters. Only you and your people can choose. I mean no offense, but you’ve taken quite some time to decide.”

Missandei watched them talking quietly among themselves, when Lord Cerwyn stood.

“My Lord, we have also recently found out our king is a Targaryen. Will this affect the throne at all?”

Missandei felt a shot of anger at Sansa Stark, and tried to push it down. Daenerys hadn’t told her much detail, but she’d said that Sansa Stark has been horrifically abused, like themselves, and had acted in fear of being under someone else’s thumb again.

And perhaps too, Daenerys didn’t want Jon to have to hide his identity. But Missandei could still be angry at the former Lady of Winterfell.

Lord Willas looked at the man as if he were a child. “Why would it affect the throne?”

“Well...he would be the rightful heir to the throne, then; wouldn’t he?”

“No. Of course not. Rhaegar’s children were removed from succession, the Targaryens were deposed, Jon’s parents were not rightfully married. Queen Daenerys was in line after her brother, and took the throne by conquest.”

“The queen said Jon was trueborn,” Lord Cerwyn argued.

Lord Willas’ eyebrows shot up. “Did she? I imagine she meant that in the sense of intent. Rhaegar married Lyanna. But the marriage wasn’t valid. Did the queen mention legitimizing him?”

“Yes. She said she would do it to please the Septons, but-“

“And those who follow the old gods as well,” put in Lord Willas. “I know that they would not accept a man taking a second wife. The queen will legitimize your king, as she said. One does not legitimize trueborn children. In a sentimental manner, perhaps you might consider him trueborn. But in the reality, such a marriage cannot be recognized. But we are here to discuss the North. The queen is not demanding anything of you, and she has been more than patient. Please make your decision as soon as possible.”

Missandei had been happy with standing beside him, listening to him speak to lords at various councils. 

Then, unexpectedly, she was asked if she would be willing to see petitioners. Lord Willas had to make a trip to a building site.

Missandei agreed, and she could not help the nervous pit in her stomach. 

She sat on the throne, and was surprised to find it did not cut her; she’d expected to come away from the thing bleeding. 

She’d never sat a throne before, never made pronouncements that would bear such weight on another’s life; and she knew she must truly think before uttering any decisions. 

After a few days of this, of ruling from Daenerys’s hideous but long desired throne, or joining Lord Willas in councils, she began to feel more confident. But she missed her friend and her lover; she missed them when she made a decision that might be wrong; she wanted to talk it out with them. She missed them even more when she was confident in being right. She wanted to share her joy with them.

She was lonely, but that ebbed somewhat when Sarella Sand found her walking sadly through the garden one afternoon, and implored her to join her for tea with the other ladies.

Missandei found that Sarella, and Princess Arianne and the Sand Snakes, the host of Tyrell girls who had joined them and other ladies who came sometimes, all treated her quite differently than the North had.

They were welcoming and warm, and they treated her with a deference she had not expected.

Sarella would walk her back to her room after their afternoons, to tell her about families, about sigils, about gossip in some cases.

Missandei had sat with them before, had tea and cakes, or wine, with them and Daenerys. And the ladies had been kind to her. But of course, with Daenerys sitting right there, they would not dare disrespect her. 

She saw now that they wanted her there. That they had become friends of a sort.

But there was that strange deference, and it wasn’t only them who showed it. 

Only now did she realize fully how much power she herself had. She’d been told of course by Daenerys herself that the position of Hand was important; but Missandei realized through these women that her position had given her power that was almost that of the queen’s herself. 

She approached Lord Willas and Lady Olenna to discuss it, because she was the most confident of their loyalty to Daenerys, and knew that they were confident of hers.

“Well, of course it’s a powerful position,” Lady Olenna said, laughing. “In many cases, the Hand rules as much or more than the king and queen. We of course serve a queen who is interested and able at her duties. But during her father’s time it was Tywin who ruled. During Robert’s time it was mostly Jon Arryn and the rest of the council. Yes, my dear, it’s a powerful position indeed.”

Missandei smiled then. This was not only her queen rewarding her; this was her friend, trusting her.

She also noted that Sarella liked to be near Lord Willas. She would sometimes look for reasons to seek him out. 

Missandei was happy for her, watching the relationship blossom, but it made her miss Grey Worm all the more.

Occasionally she saw Sansa Stark. She had to admire that the woman had dedicated herself to the children as she’d promised.

But she could not forget how Sansa Stark had treated her, Grey Worm, and Daenerys. 

We came to help you, she’d wanted to scream into their pale hateful faces. 

After the war with the dead, Sansa had made some attempt to be more civil. She’d taught them embroidery; or in Daenerys’s case, attempted to teach her. 

Daenerys had laughed at one point, telling them that patience was not her gift, and she might never learn.

Sansa had looked at her coolly. “If you plan to rule, you’d best learn patience. You’ll need it.”

Daenerys had studied her, sighed, and picked the embroidery back up. “All right,” she’d said in a long suffering voice that she’d clearly meant as a jape, and the three of them laughed. 

Missandei had almost liked Sansa in those days. 

She wondered if she might ever like her again. She was so angry. Sansa had endangered Missandei’s dearest friend. 

Missandei could understand that Sansa had suffered. But so had Missandei herself. So had Daenerys. 

Missandei treated her with respect, however, if forced to interact with her.

Some part of her felt that she should do more; but another part of her could only think of Daenerys’ vision; what if someone had murdered Daenerys because of Sansa and her indiscretion? And for what? Daenerys had promised the North their independence, and upheld it.

Missandei knew that her position now required her to treat people as justly as possible, but her heart wanted to avoid the woman, or tell her what a truly terrible thing she had done. 

Missandei would remember forever the day that Daenerys had told the Yunkish that they did not owe her their freedom. That it was not hers to give them. That if they wanted it, they must take it.

These Westerosi talked a lot about freedom, but truly, few of them knew what it was to not be free. 

And it was the one thing that made Missandei somewhat sympathetic toward Sansa. She too knew what it meant to not have freedom. 

Missandei suspected many women in Westeros might be sold to a husband for an alliance. 

She was fiercely against this, and so was Daenerys. She had decided some time ago, to learn more about the history and politics of Westeros along with Daenerys. 

She would help as much as she could, these women forced into marriages they didn’t want. 

She found that she loved discussing laws with Sarella and Lord Willas. She had never much considered what it would mean to lead, to help rule, and Daenerys’ trust in her made her all the more determined to be good at this.

********************* 

Sansa was frustrated. The smallfolk had voted for fealty again; they loved Jon, they even loved Daenerys now, and Jon had recommended fealty. 

The lords seemed convinced Jon would marry Daenerys. Sansa remembered Lord Baelish telling her that together they’d be hard to beat.

Sansa was ashamed to admit she’d done what she could to tear them apart. But she had not been successful.

She turned her attention on the orphans as a distraction, only to find that she was expected to take days of rest. 

“Queen’s orders,” Hayana had told her firmly. “She doesn’t want anyone to have to work every day.”

This frustrated Sansa as well. She didn’t want to rest. She couldn’t rest. Rest only brought her anxiety. 

Daenerys and her ridiculous ideas, she thought angrily. 

She would spend time with Arya, but Arya spent much of her days near the opening of the dragon pit or practicing with her sword. 

Bran’s days were taken up by Meera Reed or by spying on Essosi slavers for Daenerys. 

Sansa decided to approach Lord Willas, to tell him her concerns about Daenerys, about her seeming indifference regarding whether the people knew her plans.

“If she doesn’t have a better strategy for this, others will take credit for her work,” she explained. “Too many people don’t even realize what she’s doing.”

Lord Willas had chuckled faintly, but there was a sadness about his expression. 

“She is more concerned with doing what she thinks needs to be done, than what people are saying. She...she may not have much time. She wants to spend that time building resources.”

“I understand that, but she needs to think about this.”

Lord Willas studied her for a moment. “I’m happy to hear you say that. I have something to show you.” 

And then he laid a large drawing out on his desk. 

It was a way to build a makeshift wooden building, against another building, and she recognized it immediately. 

“That’s Winterfell!”

“Yes. If we build this wood structure where your glass gardens used to be, it will protect the space from the snow storms. The area will be warm because of the hot springs. Sarella designed this system with mirrors to reflect light so the workspace will be usable. We can rebuild your glass gardens. Queen Daenerys ordered the materials a little over a fortnight ago. We should be able to start the work in the next moon.”

Sansa swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. “Our glass gardens...will be rebuilt in the next moon?”

“Work will start in the next moon. They’ll take time to rebuild, longer than a moon. But they’ll be completed long before winter is over, and will help you secure a crucial food source for your people.”

Sansa nodded. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Lord Willas smiled warmly at her. “It really wasn’t my idea. It was Queen Daenerys’. She’s set on having these built wherever possible because of the length of our winters. She’s had us build them in Highgarden too.”

Sansa went back to her chambers. She was humbled by the fact that, a fortnight ago, Sansa had still been looking for ways to undermine or even depose Daenerys, while Daenerys was ordering materials to rebuild the glass gardens of Sansa’s home.

Lord Baelish had not prepared her for this. There was no ‘worse possible motive’ for rebuilding the glass gardens of an independent kingdom. It was just kindness. Even a selfish motive, such as her love for Jon or her desire to be loved by the people, was simply not enough to cover the magnitude of it. 

But of course another worry was plaguing her now. Hayana had said that Daenerys spends too much. Sansa wished the silver haired queen was here. She wished she herself hadn’t refused to behave in a diplomatic fashion. That she had instead continued the tentative friendship they’d begun at Winterfell.   
But of course Daenerys didn’t need her counsel, she had Lord Willas.

Daenerys had told her that she had stopped her from telling the Northerners about what Sansa had done, because she had it in her to be good. Daenerys seemed to remember every crumb of kindness that Sansa had ever shown her.

Sansa remembered Cersei, telling her that the people should fear their queen more than they feared the enemy. And Sansa had sworn to herself that if she were ever queen, she would make them love her. 

Yet she’d mocked Daenerys for wanting the same thing. 

She’d imagined herself wearing a crown hundreds of times. Daenerys by contrast had been a queen before she’d set foot in Westeros, yet had never worn a crown until her coronation demanded it.

She wondered if they would be friends again. Jon might marry her. She would be family then. She might bear children of Stark blood. 

But why should they not be friends again? Arya had threatened to kill her, and they were friends. Daenerys had even asked her to see to her dragons’ safety.

But Daenerys loved Arya. She’d said so. Daenerys couldn’t possibly bear Sansa any love. 

Sansa would have continued these thoughts the rest of the evening, but Podrick knocked on her door, having heard she was not at Maegor’s Holdfast, and invited her to take a walk, get some supper, enjoy the evening. She decided to take him up on it. 

As they walked, she noticed his shy grin. His freckles. And she wondered again what he’d done with the whores, to make them give back his money.


	39. Chapter Thirty Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the long wait!
> 
> I had some family issues, and some angst about battle scenes. You will no doubt notice I STILL haven’t actually gotten to them yet, but I’m not going to take as long with the next chapter!
> 
> In this chapter, is the trip to Essos, some conversations, some smut, and the first part of the war starts. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your patience and for continuing to read my fic, you are all awesome! 
> 
> Thank you to Stevepm68 for your guidance and suggestions which I will DEFINITELY be dependent upon in my next chapter!

Chapter Thirty Nine 

Daenerys could see land. It was still far off, but she could see its line at the horizon.   
Essos. Home, she thought, and almost laughed. How strange that all those years she’d been there, she’d looked west for home, and now returning felt like a homecoming.

She felt the warm air blowing through her hair, the sun on her bare arms. She’d made certain to bring clothing for the Westerosi armies that would be suitable for the weather. She’d made the mistake of not doing so for her Unsullied and Dothraki, in that other life; she’d brought them North into freezing winds and hadn’t thought to provide them with warmer clothing. She would never make that mistake again. 

At first the soldiers had thanked her, but assured her that they would be comfortable in their own clothing. But as chilly air from Westeros turned into warmer breezes, then became balmy, they changed their minds quickly.

Jon had taken to pulling all his luxurious hair into a knot, instead of just the top. In fact, many of the men did the same, or cut off their hair all together. 

It was still early, she’d just finished sitting before the glass candle to speak with Bran. He and Kinvara had both told her that Volantis was ready for her; not to fight her, but to join her. One of their triarchs was sympathetic to her cause, or at least didn’t want war with her; a man named Doniphos Paenymion. He, along with the Red Temple, had been preparing for her arrival. He’d lost his seat some time ago, as Volantis had been thirsting for war with her; but once she’d left Essos to go to Westeros, he’d been re-elected.

She wanted to take back Astapor and Yunkai first. Meereen was holding on by a thread.  
But if she took Volantis first, she could have some of her Unsullied begin to infiltrate the former slaver cities. Start to incite a revolt as they had before, and just as importantly, get as many women, children and elderly out of the city as they could. 

It would also give the Westerosi soldiers, particularly those from the North, a chance to train. They would not be prepared for the heat otherwise. And once she started burning things it would only get worse, she thought. 

The idea of taking Volantis first certainly had merit. But she was afraid of how many would be killed while she was taking Volantis.

She sighed deeply. This would be her last war. And then what time she had left would be her own. She would see the house with the red door and the lemon tree. Then she would see Valyria.

And then...what? If Jon truly joined her, she would ask him to choose. To see what places were dear to him. She smiled at the thought. 

She watched that far off strip of land, knowing they would feel it beneath their feet in the next day or two. She’d gone over the alternatives for attack with Jon and her officers. She knew they would return to the evening war council with their thoughts.

It would not be long now, she knew. No more drinking mead and making love to Jon all day and all night. 

She went back into her cabin to pour some mead into her mug and rest. 

************

Jon was trying to focus on the plans. 

He had been unable to think clearly since Tyrion had told him about Dany being poisoned in that other life. 

He could barely stand the waves of self loathing that consumed him now; and he would not let Dany see him hurting over this. She would likely try to comfort him, and the idea of her trying to comfort him in this-this horror and betrayal that he had committed against her-made him sick to his stomach.

He’d already known that the way he’d behaved toward her went far beyond what could be called ‘dishonorable’; he’d already known that he should have given her more time to recover from her grief and heartbreak. But to realize that after all she’d done for everyone fortunate enough to ever know her, she’d died with only the taste of betrayal, and she’d been poisoned. Of course, Jon hadn’t known that. But he’d known she deserved better. 

Jon suspected that most people had it in them to commit such an act as she had; but Dany remembered actually doing it. And she’d said to him that her thought process that day had felt seamless to her. She thought that even without poison, she may have done it.

Jon doubted that. He suspected she may have burned the Red Keep. Gone straight for Cersei, most likely. 

And what of him? He hadn’t committed a vast massacre of terrified civilians, but he hadn’t been poisoned, and what he had done to her, not only that day, murdering her in cold blood, but before that, haunted him. He’d thrown her to the wolves and then abandoned her as she bled. 

He’d grown up believing himself to be his father’s one dishonor. Maybe he still was, he thought bitterly. Not Ned Stark’s, but Rhaegar Targaryen’s. What honor was there in leaving his wife and children and sending the realm into war? 

Yet he’d believed he could still have honor, that he could stand by his word. Let them say Ned Stark had four sons, not three, he’d thought then. But his treatment of Daenerys in that life had been utterly without honor. 

The final act of murdering her, murdering their child with her, after an exchange of only a few words...Gods, it was no wonder she couldn’t trust him now.

He was drinking in the galley, and Tyrion entered and walked over to sit beside him.

“Are you all right?” He asked.

“I can’t stop thinking about how she was poisoned. She would have recovered. And I murdered her.”

“You had no way to know-“

“I had no way to know, because I didn’t give her a chance. I talked to her for mere minutes, and then I killed her. She loved me. She trusted me. And I killed her and our babe.”

“May I remind you, you didn’t. It was another life. None of it happened.”

“She remembers it, and I remember it.”

“You told her that it was me who told you about the poison, I presume,” Tyrion said quietly.

“I did.”

Tyrion sighed. “Is she angry at me?”

“She said she doesn’t know why she tells you anything. But I don’t think she’s angry.”

“I have to explain it to her,” Tyrion said. 

Jon shrugged. “I’m glad you told me. I wasn’t trying to cause trouble between the two of you. I just didn’t want to lie to her.”

“I know. I understand.”

“She said she thinks she might have done it anyway. She won’t lay down a single burden. She carries everything. I wish she could be half as forgiving with herself as she is with others. She says she forgives me. But she may never truly trust me. And I don’t deserve her trust.”

“If you don’t deserve her trust, because of that other life, then neither do I,” Tyrion said.

Jon laughed bitterly. “No. You don’t.”

Tyrion nodded reluctantly. “Maybe I don’t. But because of things I’ve done in this life. Not that life. What have you done in this life, that should make her mistrust you?”

“I still broke things off with her when I found out about my parents. I still let the North treat her like an enemy. Didn’t stand up for her or defend her.”

“That’s changed, Jon.”

“Has it?” He drank his ale, shaking his head. “I’m here waiting for her to forgive me. But I will never forgive myself. I should have given her more time. You said I had to choose right then.”

“Did I?”

“You have to choose now, you said. You...you really manipulated me, Tyrion. You thought she was going to kill you. You destroyed her and so did I.”

Tyrion looked into his mug. “I suppose you don’t forgive me, either.”

“It’s hard to forgive any of us. Maybe in time...but it’s time she might not have.”

Tyrion looked grimly into his mug. “Are you going to talk to her?”

“I did talk to her. But I can’t keep going to her and telling her how sorry I am. I don’t deserve her. I never deserved her. Not in that life and not in this one, either. I was a fool and a fucking coward, Tyrion. I and everyone else except her, acted without honor. And what do you think she would say if I told her that?”

“She would tell you that you’re being too hard on yourself.”

“Aye, she would. Even though she’s harder on herself than anyone I’ve ever known. I will not tell her this. I will not lay another damned burden on her shoulders. I will not have her comfort me or try to make me feel better about myself. All I can do is be better. Try my best, my fucking best, to deserve her. To be the man she deserves.”

That evening, they sat at the war council, glass candle burning. 

Bran reviewed the positions of their enemies. 

“The Masters are killing people to make an example of them,” he warned Daenerys. 

She shuddered. “As they do,” she said, but Jon could see she was angry.

“It still might be better to take Volantis first. It will make a statement to the Iron Bank, and that’s what you want,” Bran told her.

“I have a question,” Captain Naharis said. “The Golden Company...Harry Strickland...did they have anything to do with the assassination attempts on Daenerys?”

“Queen Daenerys,” Lord Tarly corrected, glaring at Naharis.

“No,” Bran said. “Captain Strickland found out about it after the first attempt and spoke against it. He didn’t want her assassinated. He’s eager to fight her in battle. If the Golden Company can defeat her, it will seal their reputation forever.”

“They won’t,” Daenerys said.

Bran smiled faintly. “No,” he agreed. “They won’t.”

Jon remembered how quickly Dany had destroyed the Golden Company in that vision. 

“I wonder if, with your permission, of course,” Naharis said, turning to Daenerys, “I might meet with Captain Strickland, to attempt winning him over to our side.”

Dany looked at him, surprised. “They knew they were accepting slaver money when they agreed to fight for the masters.”

“I know, Your Grace. And you know that whatever you decide, I’m with you. My sword is yours, my life is yours. But please hear me out; when we met, the Second Sons had accepted slaver money, too. If you’d been unwilling to meet with us, I’d have been ashes years ago. We might be able to win them over.”

“I agree,” Tyrion suddenly jumped in. “I know my counsel is all but meaningless to you these days, and I can see you’re confident that you can beat them. But if they surprise our enemy by turning on them, it could mean much fewer losses on our side.”

“They have a reputation for never breaking a contract,” Daenerys observed. 

“And a sellsword company needs that reputation. But what if they weren’t a sellsword company anymore?”

“I hope you’re going to clarify that,” Daenerys said. 

“Well, to begin with, that reputation isn’t quite perfect,” Tyrion said. “Some time ago, they did break a contract with Myr. Harry Strickland’s family has served the Golden Company for four generations. But it was founded by a legitimized Targaryen bastard. House Strickland lost their lands and fled into exile in Essos because they joined the Blackfyre rebellion. Aegor Rivers was another Targaryen bastard, and he founded the company when they were defeated and exiled.”

“They were fighting my ancestors,” Daenerys noted.

“Yes, but they were fighting for Targaryen bastards. If you offer them to restore House Strickland and return their lands to them, I do believe they will join you.”

“Where were their lands?”

“They were Rivermen, I believe. You could offer him Harrenhal.”

“I told Lord Edmure Tully that I would allow him to choose Rivermen to give Harrenhal.”

“The Stricklands were Rivermen,” Tyrion repeated. “And I’m sure Lord Tully would be happy to have twenty thousand bannermen who know how to fight. He would be their liege Lord. It would give the Riverlands a sense of security they haven’t had in years, and that would be good for everyone. And if not, you could always choose other lands for them. Regardless, you are the queen. You don’t actually have to ask permission. If you prefer, you don’t have to promise specific land, you can work that out later.”

Daenerys hesitated, but she agreed to allow it. “I’m open to the idea. I’m not concerned about the Golden Company as an enemy. But they could be beneficial as allies. But bring guards,” She warned Daario. “Your arrogance will not keep you from being murdered if the meeting goes badly.”

She went over her reluctant plan; she would bring the Dothraki to surround Volantis and take it; the Unsullied would infiltrate Astopor and Yunkai, and evacuate as many children and other vulnerable people as possible. The Westerosi would train to acclimate themselves to the heat. Then they would consult with Bran again to ensure the Masters were not holding innocents as hostages. And then they would attack the cities. 

A few of the Northmen began to object, assuring her that they didn’t need to train, that the heat had to be better than the cold they were accustomed to. 

Jon silenced them with a glare, and then they hastened to assure her that they’d meant no disrespect.

“I’m grateful beyond measure to you,” Daenerys told Bran. “The information you have provided will save lives, and be crucial in winning this. Please let me know if there’s some way to reward you.”

Bran offered her one of his almost smiles. “I’ve enjoyed having a purpose,” he told her softly. 

As the council broke up, Jon was planning to follow Dany. He’d been spending most of his time with her, in her arms, in her bed. 

He could not bring himself to chide her or even question her about how much mead she was drinking. He was concerned, but if she was right, if all of them were right, and she was going to die after this war, he would deny her nothing. Let her drink if she wanted to.

The dread had lodged itself into him like a knife. Yet his time with her meant more to him than anything else in his life.

She smiled quite a lot when she drank. The stern, imperious queen faded, leaving a relaxed young girl in her place. 

They would lay in bed and she would give him a radiant grin and ruffle his hair, and ask him about his childhood. Tell him about hers.

She told him about a bawdy song a minstrel had sung to her about a dragon and wolf, breaking into sudden singing. He’d stared at her, mortified by the lyrics, which had only made her laugh harder, and then he could not help but to laugh as well. 

She was perhaps the strongest person he’d ever known, and the bravest, too. She had had this vision before ever going North, yet had gone anyway. Had seen the horrors that Westeros had inflicted on her, and had stayed to fight the dead and Cersei despite that. 

He’d told her as much one night, as the moonlight shimmered through the cabin windows, lighting her hair.

She’d laughed. “That wasn’t strength or bravery, Jon. It was expediency.”

“Expediency?”

“I was already in Westeros. And I wanted the throne. But if I’d had that vision in Essos, I’d have never left.”

Jon stared at her. “You wouldn’t?”

“No. When I first had the vision, I didn’t know for certain if I could stop those things from happening. I was afraid almost everyone I loved, everyone who loved me, would die. I would murder a city full of civilians. I would be betrayed and murdered. I was afraid all the time. And then what would happen to my people in Essos?” She shook her head. “I’d have stayed there. I’d have sent some of my men to mine the dragonglass. Start preparations in case the dead eventually made their way across the Narrow Sea.”

“I suppose then we’re all very fortunate you had the vision at Dragonstone,” Jon said. 

She flashed that smile again. “You sure are.”

“Still...you never had to come North to fight the dead. You didn’t have to lay siege to the capitol, you could have just taken it. You certainly didn’t have to smuggle food to the people. That was strength. Bravery. And just...goodness. Greatness.”

She stretched, the lazy smile still on her lush mouth. “Keep flattering me like that, King in the North, and I might think you want to fuck me.”

He laughed. “Maybe I do.”

Then he kissed her, and they were on each other again.

He could not imagine-or maybe didn’t want to imagine-what would have happened to Westeros if she’d never come.

Yet of all the things she’d done, things of truly mythic proportions, these days of laying in bed with her, talking about their experiences, her occasional bursting into some silly song or filthy joke she’d heard from Tyrion, her laugh that Jon found to be the most marvelous thing he’d ever heard, had made him fall more deeply in love with her than he’d thought possible. And always, the undercurrent of knowledge that they were on this ship because she would not allow the people she’d helped achieve freedom, be enslaved again. That she was willing to die for that principle. And she might. He had not bent the knee to her beauty in that other life, or to her power; he had bent the knee to her character. Her courage. 

He started to follow her after the council, when he noticed Tyrion rushing after her as well. He knew Tyrion wanted to apologize to her for sharing a secret she’d asked him not to, yet again. 

And then Captain Naharis was in front of him. 

“I like that you stood up for her to that bald fucker Varys,” he said. 

Jon blinked, surprised. “I don’t care what you like or don’t like,” he responded.

“And why should you? Well, I’ll tell you why. Because she deserves loyalty and that’s the first time I’ve seen you give it to her.”

“I’m loyal to her.”

“So you say. But I know she loves you. So it’s good to see you demonstrate that loyalty every now and again.”

Jon nodded curtly. “I can’t say your opinion means all that much to me. But you love her. You’re trying to protect her. I can respect that.”

Jon walked to the galley, to allow Tyrion his chance to make apologies to Daenerys. He was afraid all the time now that he would lose her. He wanted to spend every possible minute with her. But she deserved the apology Tyrion owed her. 

As he sat down, a few of his Northern soldiers approached him. 

“Your Grace,” the tallest of them stepped forward. “We just wanted to explain...we weren’t trying to disrespect the queen, we just...we didn’t want to seem unfit for service. We aren’t afraid of a little heat. We’ll welcome it after the cold in the North,” he added with a chuckle.

Jon studied them. “I know you weren’t trying to disrespect her. But you did contradict her. At a war council. And given our history with her, the way the North treated her when she first arrived, and then the way Sansa behaved, we have to make a point of respecting her. I know in the North we can be a little informal. And maybe if we’d built that relationship with her, it would be acceptable. But even then, not at a war council.” He was quiet for a moment, measuring. “She has never asked us to surrender our independence, and has saved our lives on numerous occasions. She’s done more than enough to earn the respect of the North. I will not have you disrespect her, dismiss her commands, or treat her informally. You assured her you meant no disrespect. You will apologize the next time you see her.”

They nodded eagerly and Jon was relieved. There was no resentment on their faces; they respected her, and him. 

It was a small matter, but he’d lost her in that other life because he’d dismissed so much in small matters, refused to stand up for her in those petty disrespectful acts, that by the time the larger matters arose to crush her, he’d lost his way. He’d sided with them against her. That would never happen again. 

************************

Daenerys entered her cabin, trailed by Tyrion.

“I just wanted to explain to you why I told Jon about the poisoning,” he was saying. “I don’t want you to think I just broke my word to you.”

“You did, though.”

“Yes, I suppose I did. I should have come to you first. I’m sorry. But I was drinking-“ 

“You’re always drinking, Tyrion. That’s not an excuse.”

“True. That’s true, of course. I may have drank a little more...because you said you’re dying.” She glanced at him. “I don’t want you to die, Daenerys. To be honest, I’m heartbroken over it.” His voice sounded raw. “I don’t mean to lay any kind of burden on you, I swear it. But...if you die, I will be devastated. You’re one of my closest friends now. I will hurt for the world, truly, and all Westeros for losing the best queen they’ve ever known. But I’ll grieve most of all for my friend.”

“I appreciate that,” she said, her voice soft but stern. “Still doesn’t explain why you told Jon about the poison.”

“You said you didn’t want him to know because it would only hurt him.”

“And it did.”

“How do you think he would feel if he found out after you died?” 

Daenerys frowned. “How would he?”

“Bran, or even Qyburn. I don’t remember that life. I didn’t have a vision. But I know some of what I did. I found out while you’re still alive. And I feel horrible over it. He remembers it. He remembers putting a knife in you. Killing you and your unborn child. If you died, and he found out after...and couldn’t come to you. I can only think that would hurt him more.”

She sighed. “Valid point. That’s why you told him?” She asked, looking at him. 

Tyrion hesitated. “It’s...no. Not really; it’s just my justification, my excuse.”

“Your excuse?” She laughed again, shaking her head. “All right, then; why did you tell him?”

“Because...because you’re dying. Because I wanted you to be vindicated.”

“It doesn’t vindicate me, Tyrion. I may have done it anyway. It didn’t feel like-“

“I don’t think you would have. I understand you can’t forgive yourself. But there’s nothing you’ve ever done that would suggest you would burn innocents.”

“In that other life, I burned the food carts in the Gold Road battle. I’m sure that caused some misery. I burned the Tarlys. And look what wonderful allies they’ve become to me. I burned-“

“While I can’t say those were the best decisions, they’re nowhere near the same as intentionally targeting civilians.”

She poured some mead into two mugs, sliding one of the mugs toward him. “No,” she said softly. “But when I’m angry, truly angry, I don’t always do what I should. I don’t deny that the poison contributed to my actions. Lord Willas told me what it does. I understand. Violent, savage madness, he said. But I still have to remember how easy it was. How simple, to kill hundreds of thousands of innocent terrified people. I can never, ever let myself do anything like that again. Not to civilians anyway.” She drank her mead. “So you told him thinking it would vindicate me.”

“I wanted him to know. I’m sorry. It was selfish. I had a ready excuse to tell you, that it would hurt him more to find out after. But I don’t want to lie to you. So while it’s true that it’s better for him, to find out now, it’s not why I told him. I told him because I wanted him to know that you didn’t just do it. That he and I were wrong. I wanted him to know while you were still alive. Because you never give yourself the leeway or forgiveness you give everyone else, and I thought maybe Jon could...” he broke off, searching for words.

Daenerys smiled faintly at him. “I understand. But I hope you understand, I’m going to have to be careful about what I tell you in the future. You should have come to me first.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Daenerys nodded. He had a valid point; if Jon found out after she was gone, it might hurt him more. And she couldn’t help but to be moved by Tyrion’s desire to vindicate her to Jon.

She felt the wine seeping into her consciousness.

Jon entered some time later, and she smiled, watching him walk over to her and sit down, his eyes searching hers. 

“Are you all right?”

“I think so. We’ll be near Volantis by tomorrow morning.”

“And you want me to train with the Northmen.”

“I do. I know you’re strong, I don’t mean to question your ability. But I don’t think you realize how hot it will be. I didn’t prepare or try to acclimate to the cold in the North. And I knew how it would be. And it was terrible.” She smiled ruefully. “I had to be carried back inside after the battle with the dead. I couldn’t stop shivering.”

Jon pulled her into his arms, kissing her forehead. “I wasn’t arguing. You’re right. I’m already sweating all day and we haven’t even gotten on land yet.”

She leaned into him; his arms around her felt so right to her. 

“When I was a boy, I wanted so many things,” he told her, murmuring into her hair. “As a man, I rarely wanted anything. My entire adult life was consumed by wars with the free folk and then the dead. I was offered things. But I only ever took one thing for myself. Only one time, I did something, not because it was offered or because it was orders or because it would help in a war.”

She looked up at him. “What was it?”

“It was when I knocked on your door on the ship.”

She smiled, flushing. She remembered him telling her that before. The one selfish thing he’d ever done.

“What were the things you wanted?” She asked suddenly. “When you were a boy?” 

He flushed now. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s hard to talk about it,” she said, her tone like that of a question.

“Aye, I suppose it is.” He looked at her face, so open and tender. “I wanted to be a Stark. I used to daydream about it. That my...my uncle would ask the king to legitimize me. I never expected to marry, or hold lands, or have children. But I wanted to. I used to pretend I was Daeron Targaryen. Who conquered Dorne.”

“He didn’t hold it long.”

Jon laughed. “No, he didn’t. But I would dream of conquest like every boy...or girl in some cases. I imagine you must have daydreamed of conquest all the time.”

“No,” she said with a sad laugh. “I just wanted to go home. I mean, my house with the red door and the lemon tree. It was all I wanted back, really. I never dreamed of conquest or the throne. I thought my brother would have the throne. I only wanted home, a family. The childhood I never knew.”

Jon held her closer, hurting now for the little girl she had been, her stolen childhood.

“Im sorry the Northmen tried to argue with you. I spoke with them. That won’t happen again,” he said. 

“I’m only trying to make sure they’re safe. As safe as anyone can be, in a war.”

“I know. They were wrong to question you at your war council, and I told them so. They didn’t want you to think them weak. But they had no right to contradict you-“

“I do allow people to contradict me, Jon,” she said, with a teasing grin.

“I know you do. But it’s as I told them, you’ve done more than enough to earn their respect, and they need to start acting like it. I know you have trouble believing me after everything, but I swear, I’m never going to stand by and let people disrespect you again. I never should have allowed it in the first place.”

She stood on her toes and kissed him, and he kissed her back fervently, lifting her and carrying her to her bed. 

They tugged at each other’s clothes, and she leaned back, enjoying his body. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she said, her voice almost a growl, and his hands were under her hips, guiding them toward him. His mouth trailed over her neck, nibbling at her collarbone, making their way to her breasts. He teased a nipple with his tongue, and she arched her back in desire. 

He thrust into her then, and she cried out in ecstasy, pulling him closer, further into her. His hand cupped one side of her face, his eyes locked on hers. 

She moved her hips under him, then with a playful grin, flipped him so that she was on top, grinding over him.

He smiled up at her, his eyes trailing over her body, his hands following his eyes, holding her breasts and then gripping her hips as she rode him, rode both of them to a place of unendurable pleasure. 

When they were both spent, still trembling, she laid in his arms, his hand running over her hair tenderly. 

************************

The next morning, Daenerys dressed in her leather and armor. The lighter leather she’d brought for the Essosi heat, and the Valyrian steel chainmail Lord Willas had given her.

She spoke with the Dothraki, telling them to make certain not to attack unless it was necessary. 

Then she mounted Drogon, and they approached Volantis.

The Triarchs of Volantis were not expecting her, or the great khalasar that surrounded the city; the Tiger Cloaks were, just as Bran and Kinvara had said, and they acted immediately. Daenerys knew there might be carnage; the people who had been enslaved were taking their freedom. 

Daenerys watched them, ready to provide aid if it looked like they needed it. She was fascinated, now, seeing how easily they took the city. Their city, she thought. It will be their city. 

The coup took a little over a quarter of an hour.

Afterwards, there was immense celebration in the streets, and the people cheered when they saw her. 

One of the Triarchs, Doniphos, who Bran and Kinvara had told her about, approached her, and invited her to come speak with him.

He brought her to his manse, and they sat together in a large room with wide windows. A woman brought them tea, beaming at Daenerys as she set it down.

Daenerys enjoyed the scent of the tea but refused to drink any, holding the cup and inhaling. She’d had too many bad experiences with poison at this point to stupidly drink something given her in these circumstances. 

“You have freed the city,” Doniphos said.

“On the contrary, the city freed itself, while I literally watched them do it.”

“Have you ever been powerless, Your Grace?”

Daenerys raised her chin. “I have,” she told him.

“Do you remember the first time you weren’t? The first time you knew you were not powerless?”

She nodded. Flashes of a green glade in the beautiful landscape of the Great Grass Sea, when Rakharo and Ser Jorah had come to rescue her from Viserys.

“How did it happen?”

She looked at him, assessing his purpose in such a question, and he laughed.

“You don’t have to tell me, Your Grace. But I’d wager it was a time you felt supported. By someone stronger than you, who could protect you.” 

She nodded. “Yes,” she conceded. 

“You were able to stand up for yourself once you knew you would be supported. For them, having you here, with your dragon and your Dothraki, ready to storm the city, they knew they wouldn’t be crushed for standing up. They knew they would win.”

“They still freed themselves, I saw it with my own eyes.”

Doniphos smiled at her. “But you gave them the support and the confidence to do it.”

“What are their plans now?” 

“They want to vote on elections for Triarchs. And they want to be free. Before, only freeborn men with property could vote. Now it will be every man and woman.”

“Good,” she said. 

“We’ll hold new elections in the next few days,” he told her. “They’ll elect you as one of the Triarchs. You know that.”

She laughed, lightly. “They can’t. I’m going back to Westeros once the war is over.”

“Are you sure? You could do a lot of good work here in Essos.”

“I think the Essosi people will do a lot of good work for themselves,” she said. “Remember, Braavos is one of the greatest cities in the known world, and it was founded by former slaves. Let’s not underestimate them. The Essosi people can rebuild the cities they want to see.”

“And you’re Westerosi.”

Daenerys sighed. “Am I?”

“Valyrian, rather,” Doniphos said.

She nodded. Valyrian. Her home, the home of her ancestors, was gone, a ruin. Maybe she would never feel like she was home.

Doniphos began to talk about commerce, about recreating and stabilizing an economy that would shatter with its main staple gone.

She warmed to this subject right away, this had become a favorite topic of hers even back at the Red Keep. Building a solid economy. 

And Doniphos had ideas; ways to make metals, irrigation techniques, methods for distilling oils. 

Hours passed in discussion, and when she stepped outside, it was dark, and the people gathered outside cheered again at the sight of her. 

She smiled at them gratefully. 

She spoke to them, told them she was proud to have served as their ally.

It was crucial for them to know that she understood, crucial for them to understand, that that’s what she was. They looked at her as if she were a savior, but no, she wasn’t. Not a savior. An ally. They had freed themselves. And they would build their world as they saw fit. 

**************************

Grey Worm was confident. He knew he could do what his queen had asked. He knew it would not be easy; the new Unsullied the Masters had trained, would have had obedience drilled into them.

As he had, once. 

But he knew too that his own experiences with the Masters had given him the knowledge to intuit what he had to say to them. He knew also that these Unsullied were young. Those who were the eldest had the least training. When Queen Daenerys had made her deal with Kraznys mo Nakloz, she had requested all the Unsullied, even the boys still in training. 

There had been none left. 

Grey Worm knew well that the task in front of him would not be easy. But in him burned the memory of what he’d felt when Daenerys had told the Unsullied to slay the masters. 

He’d felt nothing for so long, he could barely remember what it felt like to feel. And that day, he had felt joy, savage unmitigated joy. 

And now there was Missandei. He must live, he must survive, he must succeed. He would see her again. She was strong and wise and the most beautiful sight his eyes had ever beheld. She was back in the queen’s red castle, ruling in her stead. 

If Grey Worm fell, he would not see her again. He would not fall. 

If he failed, he would have to face his queen and tell her that he’d failed her. And of course he knew she would forgive him. But he could not forgive himself if he failed her.

He knew he had to start slowly; to break through the wall of obedience drilled into these men, to reach the fire inside that had been all but tamped. To ignite it. 

Slay the masters. But harm no child. 

He had sent other men to quietly start moving people out of Astapor and Yunkai, starting with the children, while he and those he’d chosen made their way among Astapor’s Unsullied, to speak to them. Carefully, in hushed tones. To light them up inside and make them remember what it was to live. 

The day would come to fight, and the masters would see the men they’d thought they owned were theirs no more. 

Grey Worm thought again of Missandei. What was she doing? Was she thinking about him? He hoped she was safe. She’d told him about the vision their queen had had. That Missandei and the queen had both been killed. 

That night the queen had the vision, had been terrible. They had all believed that she had been poisoned. And she’d woken the next morning pale but determined. Missandei had told him what she’d dreamed, and the horror of it had haunted his own sleep. 

Now none of those things had come to pass, but the queen had still been poisoned, and Missandei feared she would die before long. Grey Worm knew despair then, being unable to stop such a catastrophe. But this, he could do for her, and for Missandei, and for his own people. He could talk to the men, he could set the fire inside alight, as his queen had done for him all those years ago. 

Their queen didn’t demand obedience; she asked for loyalty and even that, only if it was freely given. 

Grey Worm would do this thing she asked of him. They would slay the masters. She would burn whatever was left of them and the slavers would be no more.

When Grey Worm thought about that, about his duty to free these men as he himself had been freed; when he thought about his queen, her strength and integrity; when he thought about Missandei, her wisdom and kindness and beauty; when he thought of these things, he knew what men meant when they spoke of the ‘sacred.’ This duty, his queen, Missandei, were sacred. 

He must not fail.

****************************

Tyrion had decided to join Daario Naharis and Ser Jorah in their meeting with Harry Strickland. Daario was not particularly good at diplomacy, and while Ser Jorah might be, Tyrion wanted to be certain that Strickland would understand the rewards of joining Daenerys-and the consequences of refusing.

They had brought guards, and Strickland entered the tent with guards of his own. There was a shaking of hands, and Strickland smiled at Ser Jorah. 

“Mormont,” he greeted. “I remember you. You left us.”

“I did,” Ser Jorah acknowledged. 

“And now you’ve asked us here to find out if we’ll break our contract with the Masters.”

“It’s the losing side,” Daario said.

“Perhaps,” Strickland said. “But we’ve never backed down from a challenge.”

“A challenge is one thing. This is something else. You know Queen Daenerys has dragons.”

“I know she only brought one with her,” Strickland countered.

“She only needs one,” Daario pointed out.

“Not if we get a shot through the eye with the Scorpions,” Strickland pointed out.

“You won’t,” Ser Jorah put in. “Drogon is her fastest and strongest. And you’ll burn like the Masters if you insist on fighting her.”

Strickland smiled at him. “Did you really come to threaten me, old friend?”

“As an old friend, I came to warn you,” Ser Jorah said. “And as a fellow sellsword, Captain Naharis wanted to meet with you as well, for the same reason. A professional courtesy. Truly, Queen Daenerys isn’t worried about you in the least.”

That brought another easy smile from Strickland. “Being underestimated is often to our advantage.”

“Our Queen is aware of that,” Tyrion interjected. “She’s spent her entire life being underestimated. The Masters attempted to have her assassinated before she even set sail.”

Strickland’s smile faded at that. “I did not know about it at the time, and I certainly advised them against it. While I have no qualms about killing her in fair battle, there is no honor in assassinating an enemy.”

“She doesn’t have to be your enemy,” Tyrion said. “She doesn’t fear you as an enemy, but she recognizes you as a valuable ally. The men fighting for her, she has offered them gold, land, knighthoods. What can the Masters offer you?”

“Coin, for one thing. We don’t break contracts.”

“On the contrary, you broke a contract with Myr.” Strickland opened his mouth to respond, but Tyrion continued. “You don’t need to explain why. Things happen. But our queen can offer you what you truly want.”

“And what is it you think I truly want?”

“She can give you your lands back. Restore House Strickland.” Strickland’s eyes flickered. “We discussed this with her before meeting with you. We talked about Harrenhal.” Tyrion had kept his voice casual, but he knew. Harrenhal was an enormous keep that included vast stretches of fertile lands. Strickland tried to keep the sudden eagerness from his face, but Tyrion had seen the flash of it.

“She said she would give me Harrenhal?”

“She entertained the possibility. Our queen does not like to make promises she cannot keep, and she did promise Lord Tully that he could choose Rivermen for Harrenhal. But of course, you were Rivermen once. And as Lord Tully is Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, I imagine counting your company as his bannermen would please him. If not, there’s land all over Westeros that has been left empty by wars.”

Strickland was trying and failing to appear unfazed. “I understand winter is settling on all Westeros as we speak.”

“Alas, yes. The lands are slowly being taken by snow. The queen has ordered glass gardens built all over the realm to prepare. But yes, it may be some cold land, less fertile than in summer. Then again, summer will return. And it would be your land.”

Strickland frowned. “I’ll talk to my men about it. They would get land as well?”

“Not so great a keep as is being offered to you. But yes. All the men may have land or gold or knighthoods.”

The meeting ended, with Strickland’s promise to speak to his men, but unless those men were extremely opposed to the idea, it was a mere formality. Tyrion knew this, by the look in the man’s face.

Like Daenerys, the man wanted to go home. To have his ancestral land back.

************************

Jon was soaked in sweat. He felt as if the heat outside had settled inside him, burning him. The sun had dipped low on the horizon, and he called an end to the day’s training. 

His men groaned in relief, and they headed to the tents where supper had been prepared for them. 

Daenerys had all the Westerosi training, not only the Northmen, and Jon could see that the sultry air and beating sun had sapped them all of strength. 

Jon’s own men grinned at him, acknowledging that Daenerys had been right in suggesting the training. They’d apologized to her that morning out of respect, and Jon suspected she would be receiving another apology that evening out of sheer gratitude. 

Jon approached Ser Jorah, who had returned hours before from his meeting with Strickland, and started training as well. He had fought in the vicious heat for years, but he said it never hurt to have extra preparation, and he had advice for those who never had.

“Any news?” Jon asked him.

“The Golden Company agreed to break their contract with the Masters barely two hours after our talk with them.”

“That’s good. But I meant to ask if there was news about the queen.”

Ser Jorah frowned. Jon realized that the knight was as worried as he himself was. “Not yet. Nothing about Volantis at all yet.”

Jon sighed. He couldn’t help but be concerned. As much as Bran and Kinvara might assure him that Daenerys would face little danger there, there was a deep and aching dread that would not recede. He knew that was more about the impending consequences of her insisting upon fighting another war instead of being treated, than the battles themselves, but he also knew anything could go wrong, and what time she had could be snatched from her. 

Gods, she was stubborn. He smiled to himself, thinking about her. He was so protective of her now; he hadn’t been so protective in that other life. He had seen her only as a protector. And aye, she was a protector. His grin widened. His fierce little warrior. But she deserved protection as well.

“I suppose you heard the news,” Daario Naharis’ voice, gruff and annoyed, interrupted his thoughts.

“About Strickland? Aye, I heard.”

“Not about Strickland. About Volantis. About Daenerys. We’ve been waiting half sick, we just got the news now.”

“I hadn’t heard anything. What is it?”

“Volantis is free. The Tiger Cloaks and Fiery Hand, even some of the people, fought and won. It’s done. Daenerys is on her way back now, and the Tiger Cloaks will march with the Fiery Hand toward Meereen. They’re going to join us against Astapor and Yunkai.”

Jon released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and nodded gratefully.

“Thank you for telling me,” Jon said.

Naharis nodded, and walked on to tell the others. 

Jon was relieved, but didn’t truly relax until he saw Drogon flying over them, saw the beautiful little queen walk down along his wing, greeting those who rushed to her. She was smiling at them, and when her eyes met Jon’s, the smile widened. He smiled back at her, and as he waited for her to speak with her advisors, he walked to the food tents to get supper for her, grabbing a mug. He started to reach for the mead, when a Dothraki woman approached him, holding a large jug.

“This,” she told him. “This, the Khaleesi likes.”

“She likes this mead,” Jon assured her.

“Because of this,” the woman insisted.

Jon frowned. He knew quite a few Dothraki had been learning the Common Tongue, and maybe Dany did indeed love this wine the woman was pressing on him.

But Dany’s history with poison made him suspicious; the woman saw it on his face, and glared at him. She grabbed a mug, muttering in Dothraki what Jon assumed to be curse words. She poured some of the wine into the mug and drank, deeply, finishing it and glaring at Jon in challenge. 

Once he could see that the wine wasn’t poisoned, and was also certain he’d thoroughly offended this woman, he took the offered jug and, carrying it with the food and mug, walked to Daenerys’ tent. 

She entered a few minutes later, and in the moment she entered, believing herself alone, she slumped in exhaustion. 

She started to take off her armor.

“I’ll help you,” he offered, and she started, turning to him, then relaxed, smiling.

“What are you doing here?”

“I brought you some food and wine. Figured you must be hungry. Long day. Freed Volantis.” He helped her take off her armor. 

“Volantis freed itself. All I did was show up.”

Jon smiled as he handed her the mug of wine and laid the food in front of her. 

“You’d best be prepared to receive a spectacle of groveling.”

“Groveling?” Her eyebrows went up and she sipped her wine, then moaned with such sudden fervor that Jon feared it was poisoned after all.

“Are you all right?”

“Where did you get this?” she asked, then drank more. 

He explained how the woman had essentially forced it on him, and Daenerys gave him a beaming smile.

“This was what I used to drink on the Great Grass Sea. Honeyed wine. I haven’t had it made this way in years.”

“Is it better than mead?”

“Not better. Just...nostalgic.” She handed him the mug, and he tasted it. It was strong, and sweet, similar to mead but not quite the same. He handed her back the mug and she drank, leaning back on the pillows set up there, with another smile. 

“You should eat,” he urged, and she pulled the plate closer, picking at the food.

“Thank you for this. I didn’t want to eat anything in Volantis. I don’t mistrust them, necessarily, but I’ve had an unfortunate history with poison.”

Jon nodded. “I thought as much.”

“So...groveling? Who will be groveling, and why?”

He laughed. “The Northmen. We trained today, and all that bravado about being unconcerned about the heat melted away. Literally, I think.”

She laughed, the rich throaty sound softening his heart and hardening his cock at the same time. 

“They’re all right, though, aren’t they?” she asked.

“Aye, they’ll be fine. I guess none of us was really expecting this kind of heat. But it’s good, we got some work in. Better idea of what to expect.”

“We’ll be in Meereen tomorrow,” Daenerys said. “It’s strange, but it almost feels like a homecoming. I suppose when you have no real home, returning to any place you’ve lived feels like going home.”

“Maybe. It makes sense. Going back to Winterfell was a homecoming for me, but returning to Castle Black might feel that way as well.”

She nodded. She was watching his mouth, and she licked her own lips, drinking more of the honeyed wine. 

He could feel her desire, it was palpable, and he waited until he felt satisfied that she’d finished eating, then moved closer to her. Her body rose against him as he took her mouth with his own. She felt hot, and he pulled her clothes off, his mouth trailing over her body. She shivered in pleasure, and he buried his face in the sweetness between her legs, causing her to tremble, moaning in ecstasy.

She shuddered as she climaxed, then smiled darkly at him, sitting up, her braids messy, forming a tangled silver crown around her head. 

“My turn,” she murmured, and she pulled his clothing off hungrily, her mouth trailing his body now, nibbling and licking her way down, then took his cock into her mouth.

“Gods,” he ground out, his hands buried in her hair as she feasted on him. He could feel every flick of her deft tongue, and he thought he might lose his sanity. It was unbearable. 

He climaxed with such intensity, he felt dazed. Then she moved to lay by his side, smiling up at him, looking so damn innocent. 

“I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you,” she whispered back. 

They fell asleep, waking in the middle of the sweltering night to have each other again, and then fall back to sleep.

Jon woke early the next morning. Dany was asleep in his arms, and he smiled at how peaceful she looked. 

In the morning light, Jon could see the bruises on her belly that Tarly had told them about; they’d faded on the trip to Essos, probably due to that potion Kinvara had given her. They were starting to come back, and Jon wondered how many more times she could take it before it became ineffective all together.

He tried to put it out of his mind, the dread that lingered there always. He noticed how her body fit so perfectly against his. Her head was ducked under his chin. Her face looked serene. 

She woke a few minutes later, smiling at him sleepily. 

“Good morning,” he said, smiling back at her. “How you do feel? Do you have any pain?”

“No,” she said, but she knew what he meant. “Not too much,” she amended. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m all right. Worried about you.”

She laughed lightly, pushed herself out of bed and took some of Qyburn’s serum. 

“Only a little,” she assured him. “Kinvara’s potion is still holding up.”

“How many more times can you take that potion before it stops working?”

She sighed. “She said one or two more times. That’s all I need, really. After this war, I’ll see my old house...though I suppose it was never really mine...and Valyria...”

“We. We will see your old house and Valyria.”

She gave him a winsome smile as she dressed. “Yes. We. And what of you? What do you want to see?”

“I want to see you survive.”

She laughed again, and it was a soft, tender sound as she looked at him warmly. “I do, too. But whether I do or not, I want to see these places.”

“I know, Dany. I understand.”

“I would love to see a place that means a lot to you.”

“You saw Winterfell...but there’s a place I wanted to show you. It’s North of the Wall, so it will have to wait.”

“Why? Drogon is fast. We can go after we see Valyria.” She walked over to him, her arms wrapping around his waist. “I want to see your places, too.”

Jon was almost overwhelmed with tenderness, and he returned her embrace, kissing her forehead. “Ghost is North of the Wall, too. With Tormund. I’d love you to meet him.”

A flash of sadness crossed her face, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. “I wanted to meet him.”

“He met you. But you were unconscious. At Winterfell. I wanted you to meet. I...” he broke off.

“I know,” she said, her voice low.

He held her tighter. “I want you to go to Kings Landing first.”

“No, Jon. I want to see all I can...before. Just in case.”

He didn’t argue. She would eventually convince him. He knew it. And even if he managed to convince her to go to Kings Landing first, if Qyburn’s procedure then failed, he’d never forgive himself. 

“All right, Dany. But then...”

“Then we’ll go to Kings Landing,” she promised. She pulled back, grinning at him. “We’d best get started. Cities to help win back.”

**********************

The great pyramid in Meereen felt the same, even smelled the same, as it had the day Daenerys had left, and she felt a wealth of memory and comfort as she entered. 

She sat at the table where they’d always held war councils, and almost smiled as her officers and advisors sat around her.

Ser Jorah and Daario were looking at her, and she could see they were feeling the same.

The last time we sat here together, I was longing for the Iron Throne, she thought. She had believed so strongly that the Red Keep was her home.

She wondered if returning to Kings Landing would feel the same, like a homecoming, now that she’d lived there.

She wondered if she would even get to see the Red Keep again. 

She shook her head to clear it of such thoughts, and watched as Kinvara lit the glass candle, watched as Bran appeared before them. 

“Grey Worm has turned many of the new Unsullied to your side. Astapor is yours again in all but name, but there are still Unsullied who haven’t turned. The Golden Company surrounds Yunkai, and what few Unsullied are there, have mostly been turned by Blue Mouse. They will move from the main gate when you begin to take out the ballistae on Drogon. They were able to move many of the people out of the city, but many still remain and will be vulnerable.”

Bran went on to tell her the Masters’ escape plan. Where they would hide. Where they intended to go, to leave the city.

“Do they intend to bring hostages? Civilians?” Daenerys asked.

“No. They don’t realize that the bulk of their armies are yours now. They don’t expect to have to escape. It’s a contingency. They have been having their men practice with the Scorpions. Most of those men will follow you, but a few are still going to fire on you. Be careful.” 

“I will,” Daenerys assured him. 

Bran described the defenses on the walls, which Scorpions would most likely be manned by soldiers who would actually fire, and warned her to be cautious of all of them, in case plans were changed. 

She nodded. 

After a brief discussion, they decided they would take Yunkai first, then Astapor. Most of the Masters were hiding in Astapor. 

It was the first city I conquered, Daenerys thought. And it will be the last.

They would leave in two days.

Tomorrow, she decided, before they headed toward Yunkai, she would walk through Meereen, see it again, see if there was anything they needed. She trusted absolutely that she could allocate some of the treasure she had left, to help her people here, and her advisors would see it done if she died before she could do it herself.

She made it to her old rooms, and they were just as she had left them. She laid down on her bed, and memories filled her heart and mind. 

Again, she thought of the last time she had slept in this bed. Fraught with desire for the throne that she thought would bring her happiness.

She felt vaguely nauseated. This must be a new symptom of the poison, she thought in annoyance. She would not allow her feelings on this to go beyond annoyance in this matter. Not now. She couldn’t afford to wallow.

She had no doubt they would win this war. She only hoped it could be accomplished with little loss. She could feel her confidence, that she’d lost in that vision, that had crumbled utterly, was starting to build again. 

She knew that if she survived, she would make mistakes. Of course she would. 

But her confidence now, had an element that it hadn’t had before; the knowledge that making mistakes must be expected. Her confidence before, had been based upon victory alone.

Still, she knew she must not lose this war. She’d been so sure of victory, in that other life, and she had lost. Badly. 

She’d asked once, why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect those who can’t protect themselves?

She’d lost her own protectors. 

She’d lost those she’d sworn to protect.

She shivered.

There was so much more she wanted to do. And more, she wanted to live long enough to see these people, her people, build their lives back up after the misery and pain they’d been subjected to.

She wanted to see Westeros flourish after all the wars had devastated them.

She wanted to live. But she was confident knowing that even if she didn’t, she’d made good use of her time here. 

It wasn’t the throne that had made her happy, truly. It was the hard earned respect of the people. The knowledge that she’d helped them, that she’d laid a foundation for them to build their lives as they saw fit.

She fell asleep, with a faint smile. 

**********************

Jon rose early. He knew Daenerys wanted to walk through Meereen, and he wanted to go with her. He was aware that she was loved here, but it was as she had said to him once; she had enemies everywhere.

If she were murdered by some slaver or by the warlocks, or by any stray assassin who valued coin above the world she wanted to make, it would be catastrophic for the people here. At this point, it would be a devastating loss for Westeros as well. And for all those who loved her. For Jon himself, the thought of her being harmed made him physically sick. But most of all, for her; to be slain before she could finish this work she had dedicated herself to...Jon would not let that happen.

He found her breaking her fast with fruit and cheese, and hard bread, and she smiled brightly when she saw him. 

He returned the smile, and sat across from her. He was about to tell her he planned to join her, when she suddenly paled, jumped up, and ran out of the room, returning a few minutes later, still pale.

“Are you all right?” He asked, trying to ignore the cold fingers of panic gripping him.

She sat back down and resumed eating. “Yes,” she assured him, smiling ruefully. “But this is a new thing my body apparently enjoys doing. Randomly being sick.” 

He could see she didn’t wish to dwell on the subject. “I was hoping to join you today. We’ll be training as we approach Yunkai. I want to see your city.”

“It’s really not mine anymore,” she said softly.

They ate together, and Jon found himself staring at her bare arms. She favored dresses that showed a lot of skin in Essos, and the curve of her breasts, her bare back...Gods, everything about her was so damn alluring. She glanced at him, and he flushed at having been caught, staring at her clavicle of all things, and lowered his eyes into his goblet. He had wanted to go to her the night before, but thought she might need rest. But it had been hard to sleep without her, having spent so many nights with her. Now the sight of all that creamy skin was making him crazy.

They walked together through the city, and Jon saw how the people approached her, to pour out emotional words to her; he did not understand them, but clearly Daenerys did, and she responded in their language. Jon did not need to understand their words, he could gauge their emotion; gratitude, love, reverence. 

Occasionally, as they would walk through a crowd, Jon moved protectively closer; but no one tried to hurt her, some would touch her as she passed them. This had angered Jon at first, but he quickly realized they were not trying to molest or harm her. They only wanted to touch her arm or hair or back. 

Jon suspected that if these people knew what he’d done to her in another life, they would tear him to pieces with their own hands. 

Jon thought about what a shock it must have been to her heart, to be treated with such disrespect and irrational hatred by the Northerners, after such love here. His chest ached as he contemplated how alone and hurt she must have felt.

She probably didn’t understand at all why they were so derisive toward her, when she’d gone North to save them.

He shuddered and pushed the thought out of his head. 

They’d walked for about an hour when he saw she looked a little pale. 

“Let’s stop for a bit,” he said, and indicated an inn. “Are you hungry?” 

She nodded, and followed him. “More thirsty than hungry,” she said, and as they stepped inside, a few people turned, recognized her, and cheered. 

They sat down at a wooden table, and Jon was about to get up, to order food and drink, when the innkeeper walked over to them. He was smiling widely, and began speaking to Daenerys. 

Jon could not understand what they were saying, but he surmised that the innkeeper was asking about him by his and Dany’s glance at him, and then Dany responding. The man turned then to Jon and spoke to him, still in Valyrian, then walked away to speak to the servers.

“What did he say?” Jon asked. “He spoke to me, but I don’t speak Valyrian.”

She turned to him, and her expression was happy, but flushed, proud but hesitant.

“He was expressing gratitude,” she said carefully. “He asked who you were. I explained that you were a king, and you came with your forces to help us defeat the slavers. He was thanking you, for coming to aid our cause. He doesn’t know you, but he trusts me, so he trusts you. And he is grateful.”

Jon felt a knot form in his belly. If only his own people had trusted him as her people trusted her. This stranger had treated him with more respect and welcome than the entire North had treated Dany, when their very lives had depended on her assistance.

Food and wine were brought to the table, and the servers waved off Jon’s attempt to give them coin, speaking again in Valyrian.

“They won’t take your coin,” Daenerys told him. “They know you and I are here to defend their city. They know we’re here to help fight the slavers.”

Jon nodded. They ate in silence, occasionally punctuated by people approaching their table to speak to Daenerys, some even leaving her little gifts. Some of them spoke a language that did not sound like Valyrian, but Jon could not make out what it was.

“It’s Ghiscari,” Daenerys told him, seeing his expression. “I’ve been learning it from Missandei.”

“You sounded pretty fluent,” Jon remarked.

She laughed. “Missandei is a phenomenal teacher. She speaks nineteen languages.”

“I suppose ‘Mhysa’ means ‘queen,’” he said with a smile, noting that the people who’d spoken to her in that language had called her that.

Her smile turned soft, tender. “It means ‘mother,’” she murmured.

Jon smiled then. “They call you mother,” he said, and he had to force his own voice not to tremble with...love, remorse, regret for how his people had treated her. “You protect them.”

She nodded, but was silent. She finished her meal and stood. 

“We should head back.”

They walked to the pyramid, and Jon noted that even aside from the beaming smiles directed at Daenerys, the people here seemed happy; they had been slaves before Daenerys had conquered Meereen. They had been chained and collared and owned, sold, abused. 

But they were free and happy and building their lives, rebuilding their economy, choosing their leaders.

Jon was a little overwhelmed by the implications. 

She liberated Slavers Bay and she liberated Kings Landing and she’ll go on liberating...

Tyrion’s voice echoed in his head. Jon had to bite back rage. Tyrion was innocent in this life. Jon had to remind himself of that. 

She did fucking liberate them, he wanted to roar across space and time. It’s not even Slavers Bay now, it’s the Bay of Dragons.

But of course Tyrion would call it Slavers Bay. With Daenerys gone, they would all go back to being enslaved, and Tyrion hasn’t cared.

Jon wished he could know what had happened after, and was horrified to realize that a part of him hoped Drogon came back and burned every one of them out of existence, including himself. 

He shivered a little at his own blood thirst.

“Are you all right?” She asked him. 

“You liberated them,” was all he could say.

“I provided them with an alliance that helped them to liberate themselves,” she corrected.

Jon sighed. “Dany. You-“

“It’s an important distinction, Jon. I’m not just aiming for false modesty. I know my alliance with them was and is important. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m willing to die for this, if I must. I understand that. But they fought too, and I’m not willing to minimize their role in taking their freedom.”

Jon nodded. “I understand,” he said heavily.

He glanced at her as they walked. She looked happy, but tense. The wars to come would decide everything. Her entire adult life’s work was in this. He realized that this was probably more important to her than the throne. 

As they neared the Pyramid, Jon saw Lord Tarly approaching them, one of his rare smiles on his face.

He nodded in greeting at both of them. 

“I wanted to speak with you, if you have a moment,” he said to Daenerys.

“Of course,” she said, smiling back. “What is it?”

“If you’re tired, it can wait.”

“I’m not too tired at all. Is everything all right?”

“Well, you were right about the heat here,” he said, and she laughed.

“It gets pretty brutal,” she said.

“The people here adore you. I’m sure you know that. But I wanted you to see this.” He reached into his pocket, producing several small silver and gold coins. “I had bought a few things here, some silks for my wife and daughter. This was what the merchants gave me back.”

Jon glanced at the coins, then looked closer, as Dany took one of them.

It was her, Jon realized, on the coins.

“This looks like...” Dany broke off, staring at the little gold mark.

“You,” Tarly said, beaming at her. “It’s your profile on their coins. I asked Captain Naharis about it, he said he let the people vote on what the new coins should look like. It was unanimous. They chose you.”

Daenerys flushed, and tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back and smiled at Lord Tarly. 

“Thank you for showing me,” she said softly. Jon could see her humbled and overwhelmed expression. 

“I know a lot of people in Westeros haven’t treated you at all the way you deserve. I was happy to see this. I thought you should see, too.”

“I appreciate it, Lord Tarly. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. We are fortunate to call you our queen.”

Jon could see the man’s pride in her, and he nodded again and went back to the training area.

Daenerys looked as though she were fighting tears still, and Jon reached for her hand, squeezing it. 

She gave him a fragile smile, squeezing his hand back.


	40. Chapter Forty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, Daenerys and her people take Yunkai, and a lot of conversations happen!
> 
> Thank you so much to Stevepm68 for basically writing the battle scene for me, you ROCK! I don’t know anything about writing these, I would be lost without your help and contributions in this, I basically used the scene from your comment on ch36, and I am so grateful!
> 
> And thank you to ReganX for what you said in one of your incredibly insightful comments, about how good it will be for bastard children all over Westeros to have someone like Jon, who is also a bastard, to be able to look up to, so important in a world like theirs. I totally used that in this chapter.
> 
> And as always, thank you to everyone for your comments and advice, and for reading this story! Your support means so much to me! 
> 
> I hope you like this chapter! :-)

Chapter Forty 

The smell of burning flesh lingered in the air long after the masters had died.

Jon could smell it, but he couldn’t be sure if it was a true lingering or if it only stayed with his senses in memory; if he only thought he could smell it still.

And he almost thought he didn’t care; but he realized that was not the truth. No, he was not indifferent. He was glad.

The group of Masters had come to attempt peace negotiations with Daenerys, just as Bran had said they would. Bran had told them that morning the names of the men; the dress the the slavers would be wearing; which ones had not been a part of the assassination attempts; which had not been part of trying to take back the cities. Those nobles who had abided by Daenerys’ terms. 

Most had fled when the slavers decided to restore the cities to their idea of glory. 

Some had fled because they understood that money could still be made from a labor force of freed men, or who could conceive of the fact that some debt or crime could land themselves in chains. 

Many had fled because they knew well that Daenerys’ dragons would continue to grow so long as they lived, and would only get stronger, their scales tougher, as they did. 

But there were those who had not fled then, yet had spoken against assassinating the Queen, against defying her.

When the slavers arrived at the camps to make their attempt at peace, bowing before Daenerys and offering gifts, she had spared those who Bran had advised were not part of the attacks on her or her cities.

But those slavers who had been part of the plan to murder her and take the cities...

They had burned.

The gifts they had offered Daenerys were lavish, and after the men had been reduced to cinders, Daenerys had stated that this wealth would be used to pay the former slaves for their time in bondage, and rebuild their cities. To create libraries and aqueducts, and implement irrigation, build a system of pipes and methods to provide clean water, and fund commerce.

Jon didn’t wonder about his own blood thirst now. These men had sent assassins to murder Daenerys. He could think only of that.

When he thought about her laying in her bed unconscious, with bruises on her throat and face, his hands itched to close around the throats of the men who’d sent the assassins.

When he thought about her coronation feast, the night that should have been magical and wondrous for her, should have been her happiest, but a bolt from a crossbow was shot into her instead, he thought death by dragon fire too good for them. Too fast.

He kept thinking that if she’d not been quick enough to get down when he’d screamed at her, if he hadn’t been quick enough with his warning, if Bran hadn’t been scouring the room for possible attackers, that bolt would have lodged into her boundless heart and she would be gone.

He kept thinking of her smile that night, tender as she looked at her people, people who were happy to see her crowned. He knew her, he knew her heart. She wanted to be loved. And loved she was. To have the sudden ugly reminder on this of all nights-not that any night would have mitigated the horror of it-that there were still those who hated her, to steal her joy and almost steal her life, a life that had singularly brought about so much good, so much hope...so much life, in truth. For all Jon’s struggle, for all that Arya had landed the killing blow to the Night King, if Daenerys hadn’t agreed to come North, they’d have been overrun, and the continent would only be a wasteland of walking corpses. 

He was past anger, even past loathing for these men. 

Thinking of that night, he fisted his hands in rage as if it had just happened.

He could taste, even now, own sick panic as he’d turned to see where the bolt had hit her. 

The relief to see her alive, if pale. 

Her calm, Gods, her calm as she stood, soothing the chaos in the hall as if her own confidence was contagious.

“If there is to be no further nonsense, I’d like to finish what I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted,” she had said.

He smiled at the memory, even though it hurt. He’d never met any man or woman as strong or as fierce as she was. Nor had he ever known anyone quite so compassionate. 

She was talking now, to the men who had brought her supplies. One of them handed her a small parcel, and she held it close, and Jon wondered what it was. Too small to be supplies; his stomach tightened into its familiar knot as he thought it was probably something for pain. 

He wanted to go to her, to hold her, and he wished there could be some way to take her pain on himself. 

They would take Yunkai tomorrow. She had her attention on too many matters now, for him to try to take up her time. She glanced at him, and smiled. He smiled back and approached her. 

“Are you all right?” He asked. 

She nodded. “I am. A little tense, because of Yunkai. I don’t want us to lose anyone.”

He studied the package in her hands, and she caught his eyes.

“For pain?” He asked, dreading the answer.

“No. Qyburn sent me more than enough.” She hesitated. “I want to-“ she broke off as her officers approached, and began giving her reports. 

He fell into conversation with her and the officers, planning their next steps. 

Daenerys said she was going to get a map she’d been working with, and they agreed to meet in the war council tent, where they would have one more meeting with Bran before they began the march toward Yunkai.

***********************

Tyrion was drinking. He was always drinking, Daenerys had pointed out. But he wasn’t going to get drunk, not today. Today Daenerys and her forces would march, and tomorrow they would take back Yunkai. He wanted to be sober, at least somewhat, to see it, and he did not want to be hung over, either. He sat in the shade of the lean-to, watching the war preparations. 

Daenerys had burned the slavers who had come to ask for peace that morning, and Tyrion could not find it in himself to fault her decision.

If they wanted peace, then perhaps they should not have tried to have her murdered. They should not have declared war on her.

Tyrion saw Varys approaching him and he sighed deeply. Varys was his friend; he’d once been Tyrion’s closest friend. When they’d plotted together about Cersei, it had been scintillating and exciting, and they could both be secure in the knowledge that they weren’t harming her really, just protecting the people.

Tyrion knew his friend wanted to protect the people still; but if he was coming to complain about Daenerys killing men who had plotted to assassinate her, Tyrion did not want to hear it.

“Good morning, old friend,” Varys greeted him, sitting down and pouring himself some wine. 

“Good morning,” Tyrion responded. “If you’ve come to condemn our queen for burning those men-“

“I didn’t. I have a much larger concern to discuss with you.”

“Well go on, then.”

“The queen received a package today.”

“The queen received many packages today. Our supply shipment came. What of it?”

Varys studied him. “You seem angry.”

“I’m not...” Tyrion took a deep breath. “I’m not angry, Varys. It just seems you are always looking for fault with Daenerys.”

“I’m not looking for fault with her, Tyrion. But it’s as I’ve said before, her father wasn’t always mad. And she would be far more dangerous than he or Joffrey or Cersei could have ever been. She had the largest army in the world before she set foot in Westeros. Now most of Westeros is behind her. After this war, she’ll have even more support. And let’s not forget, she has three dragons.”

She’ll have nine dragons before long, Tyrion thought, but decided not to share that information. If Varys found out about the eggs, he might find a way to harm them in his panic. 

“She is formidable,” Tyrion agreed carefully. “But she’s not like her father. She’s strong, and what’s more, she’s good. You know she is.”

“Among the things she received today, was a package she asked for a fortnight ago. Her own men will never betray her, but my little birds are everywhere.”

“So you’ve been spying on our queen.”

“Are you familiar with the effects of basilisk blood?” Varys asked.

Tyrion felt his hair stand on edge. “I am. Why do you ask?”

“She requested it be brought to her. She received it this day. Why do you suppose she would want that poison?”

Tyrion stared at Varys in horror. “That can’t be right,” he finally managed. There was no way Daenerys would want anything to do with that wretched substance after her vision.

“I’m afraid it is. And I cannot fathom what she intends to do with it.”

“I’m going to ask her.”

“I would not advise that. I would suggest we watch her closely-“

“No,” Tyrion said firmly. “Varys, I know you don’t trust her. You don’t trust anyone, and I suppose you can’t. But I do trust her. And what’s more, I want her to trust me again. I believe in her. I’m not going to sneak around and spy on her. If you like, I can avoid telling her how I found out, although I am not happy about being dishonest with her at all.”

Varys sighed, and his eyes fixed on Jon, who was walking past them. 

“Your Grace,” Varys called. “Might I have a word?”

Tyrion felt anxious. He didn’t want to be here while Varys set out to betray Daenerys; whatever she had in mind for the basilisk blood...he shuddered. What could she have in mind?

Jon walked over to them, nodding in greeting, his eyes cold as they regarded Varys.

“What is it?” He asked curtly.

“I must speak to you about Daenerys.”

“Anything you have to say about Queen Daenerys, you should say to her,” Jon said, his voice like ice.

“There’s something you should know-“

“Anything I need to know about her, she can tell me.”

“I don’t believe she will tell you, Your Grace, and-“

“If it’s something she won’t tell me, then you shouldn’t either,” Jon snapped, and now it wasn’t ice in his glittering dragonglass eyes, it was fire.

Tyrion realized that Varys was on dangerous ground. 

“You have two choices right now, Lord Varys,” Jon went on. “You can continue to attempt telling me this thing you believe she does not want me to know...therefore betraying your queen...and then maybe Lord Tyrion will help you collect your teeth off the ground. Or you can drop this subject and let me prepare for the battle at Yunkai.”

Varys stared at him, then nodded. “Of course, Your Grace. I apologize.”

Jon turned and walked away. 

“They won’t turn on each other,” Tyrion noted. 

“I see that,” Varys said, frowning. 

Tyrion stood. “I’m going to ask her about it.”

“Are you sure that’s the best course of action?” 

“Yes. I’m sure. I think you should come with me.”

Varys hesitated, but followed Tyrion to Daenerys’ tent. She was leaving the tent as they approached, holding a map in her hand. She’d already changed out of the blue confection of a dress she’d worn that morning, into her leather and chainmail. 

“Good morning,” she said to them, but did not stop walking, and Tyrion fell into step beside her, Varys following closely behind.

“I have to speak to you, Your Grace,” Tyrion began.

“If it’s not about the battle or Yunkai, it will have to wait until tomorrow. I’m sorry for that, but this takes precedence.”

“Your Grace-“

“Is it about the battle? Or Yunkai? Or anything I need to know about now?” She demanded. 

“Not exactly, but-“

“Then we can discuss it tomorrow,” she said, and walked toward the tent where Tyrion knew they were planning.

It could wait, Tyrion reasoned. Of course it could. But he was anxious.

*********************

Daenerys listened to the officers, and to Bran, as they went over the plan again. She wanted to be sure, absolutely sure, that no innocents would be dragged into the pyramid along with the masters. 

Bran said that in the moment they might panic and grab someone as a shield, but had no plans to have the slaves in the pyramid with them. 

They believed that the Golden Company would protect them. And the majority of Slavers were at Astapor. 

As the officers were leaving and Kinvara made to douse the glass candle, Bran asked her to wait.

“I’d like a moment alone with the queen,” he said.

The officers turned to Daenerys and she nodded. They left the tent, and she drew close to the candle and to the shadowy image of Bran.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes. There were a few things I wanted to tell you. First, Qyburn and Sarella agree that you must return to Kings Landing as soon as possible. I know you’re planning to take a trip before coming back, but I thought you should know. It’s urgent.”

Daenerys sighed. “I may not survive the procedure he has in mind. I want to see some things before it’s over.”

“I know. I just wanted to tell you. The other thing, is that Varys knows you received a package containing basilisk blood. He told Tyrion. He tried to tell Jon, but Jon cut him off before he could. Jon said if there’s something you don’t want him to know, then Varys has no business telling him. Varys told Tyrion to spy on you, but Tyrion refused and said he’d rather speak to you about it. He doesn’t want to sneak behind your back.”

Daenerys smiled then, softly, in appreciation. “That’s what he wanted to discuss with me.”

“He can’t imagine what you want to do with it, after what happened in your vision.”

She sighed. “He’ll know soon enough,” she said. She could not help the tug of sadness that Tyrion would think she had some nefarious plan for the poison, but she was grateful for his wanting to come to her instead of sneaking behind her back. And how could he not be concerned?

“I also wanted to apologize to you,” Bran said. Daenerys looked at him in surprise. 

“For what?”

“For some of my actions...or inaction...in that other life. I had Sam tell Jon about his parents, but I didn’t look at anything else. It was at the worse possible time for both of you. I told you about Viserion in front of everyone, and quite coldly. I didn’t warn you that you would be ambushed going to Dragonstone. Or that Varys was trying to poison you. Or anything about Qyburn. I didn’t know, but I didn’t look. I could have saved you, Rhaegal and Missandei by warning you.”

“You said the power came to you at a time you weren’t ready. You didn’t know what to look for.”

“I could have tried. I am truly sorry for it. For not seeing you as a friend or ally. For not trying to look out for you after you’d helped to save me, my family, and my home.”

Daenerys was at a loss for words. Bran smiled faintly, but it was a smile, and she couldn’t help but smile back. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you actually smile before,” she said.

“Are you surprised? The Night King himself smiled at you in that other life.”

She laughed. “It was a smug smile, though, wasn’t it? A smirk, really.”

Bran gave a soft sigh, almost a laugh. “In eight thousand years, it was the only time he smiled at someone living. There was one more thing...”

“Yes?”

“Some time ago, you’d said that my Aunt Lyanna had possibly sent ravens, that were intercepted.”

“I thought it was a strong possibility, given Varys’ behavior. I’ve heard things about her, very good things. I admire her. And Jon...I didn’t want him to-“

“I looked,” Bran said. “She did send a raven. It was intercepted.”

“By who?”

“Petyr Baelish. Littlefinger. I know you’re getting ready for a war. I don’t want to take up too much time. But after, I’d like to tell you about it.”

Daenerys leaned forward. “I have time,” she said. “Tell me.”

****************************

Tyrion could see Daenerys leaving the tent, and rushed to her.

“I know you’re busy, Your Grace. I only want a moment to-“

“Lord Tyrion, I have no time now. We’re leaving to take Yunkai.” She stopped and turned to face him, and her gaze was gentle, almost tender. She laid her hand against his cheek. “I promise you, you have no reason to fear. We’ll talk tomorrow, and I’ll explain it to you.” 

She turned then and walked toward Drogon, dashing up his wing, and taking off into the sky.

Tyrion frowned. 

Did she know what Varys had told him? 

He saw Varys watching her, and glancing at her tent.

Tyrion found Lord Tarly. “My Lord, a word before you go.”

Tarly sighed impatiently. “Make it fast,” he said.

“I know we don’t have many men to spare, but could you put guards outside the queen’s tent? Loyal guards. Who no one may release from the post except you and the queen. Even me.”

Tarly stopped then and turned to him, as Daenerys had.

“Why?” 

Tyrion had expected this question, but his days of telling Daenerys’ secrets were over.

“The Masters tried to kill her twice. And now we’re in Essos; some years ago, when her dragons were quite small, they were stolen by Qartheen warlocks. She rescued them and killed everyone involved.”

The look on Tarly’s face was of such pride that Tyrion half expected him to cheer. 

“Go on,” he urged.

“The warlocks tried to kill her after that. They had a child hand her a ball, to twist and open. When she did, a manticore jumped out and would have killed her but for Barristan Selmy. With no one here, how easy would it be to try it again?”

Tarly nodded. “I’ll see to it. Good thinking, Lord Hand.” He walked on, approaching some of his men to advise them.

Tyrion could see Varys watching him, frowning. 

He knows, Tyrion thought. He knows my loyalty is to Daenerys now, not to him. He felt a twinge of guilt; Varys was his oldest friend, and had saved his life. 

But it was not as if he was harming Varys. He only wanted to protect Daenerys. He was not going to betray her ever again. 

Yunkai fell with some ease. The Golden Company had been its key defense, so when they did not defend the wall, when their elephants stood aside as Daenerys’ armies swept through the city after the gates had been opened, and the Golden Company joined them, there was little left. Daenerys had been planning to simply burn the wall, but there were enough of her men inside to open the gates, and Captain Strickland had advised that the elephants might stampede if they saw fire raining from the sky. 

She had agreed to that, but advised him to keep them away from the pyramid where the Slavers would be hiding. 

At dawn the Golden Company had arrayed across the north end of the valley. To the south, the army of Her Grace. The Unsullied phalanx in the center, to the left, The Knights of the Vale, and Northern soldiers led by Jon Snow. To the right, the southern knights and soldiers led by Randyll Tarly. When both armies were within range of one another, catapults and archers from both sides began to rain death from above. The Unsullied were first to make contact with the enemy, followed by the right wing of southern knights, followed by the northernmost on the left. As they raged with no side gaining the upper hand, the sound of a horn was heard, followed by the war cries of 5,000 Dothraki charging over the hills on the eastern side of the valley. The Dothraki split in two, one wing smashing into the slave army left, and one swinging around to hit the rest of the slave army from behind. What was a stalemate became a rout as the army of the slavers collapsed in panic. From the hill above, where Tyrion and Ser Davos observed the battle, Tyrion could make out Randyll Tarly on his white charger, sword held aloft in victory. Soon other riders, one of them Jon Snow, he could tell, and the others Dothraki. All with swords and Arakhi held aloft, the shouts of victory ringing throughout the army of Her Grace.

Daenerys had stated enough times that she had no intention of allowing them to escape. And so she hadn’t. A few of the Slavers had indeed done as Bran said, grabbing some random man, woman or child off the streets to shield them as they ran from the walls, where they’d intended to watch the battle, where they’d hoped their Scorpions would land a lucky shot. They didn’t; either Daenerys’ practicing had paid off, or Drogon was incredibly deft to begin with. He dodged the bolts easily and strafed the battlements with fire, destroying the Scorpions. 

Tyrion feared she might unleash a storm of fire over the Slavers anyway, despite their human shields, but instead she stood on Drogon and began loosing arrows at some of them with deadly accuracy, while her men caught hold of others and killed them.

Then she flew Drogon over the pyramid and unleashed a firestorm. 

As the pyramid burst into a crumbling, flaming pile of melted stone, what little fighting there had been, stopped. 

Varys was staring warily at the smoking pile of rubble, as they walked through the city. 

Tyrion knew Varys was disturbed by what Daenerys had done. Whatever these Slavers were, there was a natural aversion to burning men alive. 

Varys was walking toward the destroyed pyramid, and Tyrion followed him. 

A roofless room that was little more than rubble and charred corpses. 

Tyrion walked through the bodies at his feet. He glanced at the men around him. Jon and Ser Davos were standing at the center of the carnage of ash. Davos frowned, and Jon’s features were unreadable. Varys looked as though he might be sick, and Randyll Tarly was almost smiling. 

“Do you think this was necessary?” Varys asked Tyrion.

“Of course it was necessary,” Lord Tarly snapped. “They lost numerous battles to her, but kept attacking her people. Then they tried to have her murdered.”

“They could have been taken as prisoners,” Varys said.

“I believe she did take them as prisoners once. Some of them, anyway,” Tyrion said. 

“There are so many of them,” Varys pressed. “Do you see how many men she killed, and in minutes?”

“Why do you think that is?” Jon asked him suddenly, his voice low but harsh. “Why are there so many?”

Varys looked at him, confused. “Well, I suppose because they all gathered here to hide.”

“Aye, they hid here, and there are more at Astapor. In fact, the bulk of them are at Astapor, Bran said. And then there were all those she burned this morning. Why so many?”

“I don’t know, but it sounds like you have a theory,” Varys told him. 

“It’s not a theory, it’s an obvious fact. She’s been fighting them for years. Beaten them in battle, made new pacts and treaties for peace. And they kept violating them. There are so many of them now, because she allowed them to make peace with her. She allowed them to live, after they rebelled again and again. Not for some noble aim of freedom or a better life, but to own people. To continue slavery. You keep expecting her to be merciful, to be gentle. But this war is evidence that mercy is not going to stop them. Every burned man here was alive this morning by her mercy. And she is fed up with them violating their pacts. What good is all her strength and power, if people like this refuse to accept her boundaries? If she allows them to commit monstrosities against innocent people, when she has the power to stop them, what does it say for her?”

“She-“

“They tried to kill her, Varys. They sent men to murder her, and you expect her to do what, exactly?” Jon demanded. 

Tyrion was watching them. The expression on Jon’s face was frightening; his dark eyes were fixed on Varys with an intensity that made Tyrion wonder if Jon would physically attack him.

“She has attempted to make peace with them, and they refused that peace,” Tyrion added in a gentler voice. 

“And so you think she had to do this?” Varys demanded, turning to him.

“I don’t know,” Tyrion said. He wanted to defend Daenerys. He loved her. And these men had done terrible things, everything Jon had said was true.

“You don’t know?” Ser Davos’ voice cut through the hot, dense air. “You don’t know if she she had to do this?”

“Well, I-“ Tyrion began to answer but Ser Davos cut him off.

“I’m no expert in Essosi culture, but King Jon did just say that these men were attacking, enslaving, and murdering her people. Is that not an act of war?”

“Yes,” Tyrion said, glancing around at the other men, who were also looking at Davos now, surprised at his outburst. “I understand that it was an act of war.”

“Do you? And do you remember that night you pulled a chain across Blackwater Bay to catch all the enemy ships so they couldn’t move, then set them all aflame with wildfire?”

“I do. But that was...” he broke off.

“War? Is that what you were going to say? Aye, it was war, and I’ve tried to understand that and band together with you, haven’t I? My son died that night. He was younger than King Jon’s brother. But it was war. So is this. You’re going to stand there and-“

He broke off as Daenerys entered the destroyed room, looking around. Much like Jon, her expression was unreadable, and Ser Jorah, Grey Worm, and Daario walked on either side of her.

“Were you arguing?” She asked.

“Just talking, Your Grace,” Ser Davos said.

She looked at him skeptically, but didn’t press it. She looked at Varys. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “You’re feeling for them, these men I burned. Thinking I could have done something different. That I should have found a way to make peace with them. But these men-“

“I wasn’t thinking that, Your Grace,” Lord Tarly put in. “I was thinking you warned them, and they didn’t listen. I was thinking I’m glad we’re on the same side.”

“Well, you served Aerys, and Joffrey,” Varys snapped at Tarly.

“So did you,” Tarly thundered back at him. “You served all the same monsters I did, and a lot more closely, and now you finally serve a good queen, and all you can do is attack her.”

Jon was walking toward Varys, his eyes narrowed. “Did you just compare her to her father again?”

“No,” Varys said quickly. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Then you will apologize,” Jon demanded.

“Of course,” Varys said. “I apologize, Your Grace, if it seemed like I was comparing you to your father.” He looked around again at the burned bodies around them.

“You have the audacity to criticize her, to judge her,” Jon growled at Varys. “They tried to kill her.” He turned to look at Daenerys. “That’s what I was thinking. They tried to murder you. That night I saw you in bed with bruises on your throat. At your own coronation feast, they had an assassin send a bolt through you. I was thinking of that. And I was hoping you burned every last one of them.”

Daenerys looked at him tenderly, then turned back to Varys, her eyes turning cold. “I want you to see something,” she said. “Come with me.”

She turned and started walking through the debris, back out into the street.

Jon moved protectively closer to her, and Ser Jorah, Daario and Lord Tarly followed close behind. Varys and Ser Davos walked behind her as well, Tyrion walking last.

As they walked away from the ruined pyramid, all the sunlight on the buildings that remained was blinding. 

Not a stain of smoke, or scorch mark, showed on any wall except the destroyed pyramid that had been her target. 

She and Drogon had a tighter control on their attack than before, Tyrion noted.

Unsullied soldiers were pushing ladders against buildings, and climbing up. Tyrion frowned thoughtfully, watching them.

Daenerys led them to a large pyramid near the center of the city; no doubt the Slavers had believed Daenerys would assume they were hiding here. She likely would have, if not for Bran. 

They made their way to the top of the structure. Daenerys walked down the hallway, stopping at a terrace, and turning around to face Varys. 

“Go on,” she urged. “Look.”

Varys walked to the terrace, then gave a strangled gasp. By the expressions on the faces of the other men, ranging from horror to rage, to nausea, Tyrion hesitated, but then stepped forward to look over the terrace.

What he saw made him gag in horror. Hundreds of people, men, women, children, elderly, were tied or chained to the rooftops. They’d been mutilated in various ways and left there for birds to pick at them. For the sun to beat down on them. Streaks of blood and excrement around them. Tyrion realized that some of them were still alive. Unsullied soldiers were climbing onto the rooftops to get them down. To lay them to rest or get them help. 

“Those people were left there by the Masters. On the rooftops. So I would see them when I flew over the city.” Daenerys’ voice as she addressed Varys was clear, resonating with an unshakable rage. “I do not feel badly for killing the masters. For burning them. This is what I’ve been up against. I will never feel badly for burning them, and if you do, I’m probably not the queen you wish to serve.”

She turned then and walked away, and Jon followed her, his arm around her in support.

“I didn’t know,” Varys said, glancing again out over the horrific carnage.

“Then maybe you should have kept your mouth shut,” Lord Tarly said. 

They walked back down the stairs in silence. 

Tyrion felt sickened now. When they finally reached the bottom, he saw Jon approach one of the Northern officers; he commanded the man to gather the others and assist the Unsullied. Tarly nodded at him in approval, then spoke to his own men, commanding the same. Tyrion could not be sure whether it was only to help, or if maybe they wanted their own men to see as well. 

He watched as Jon returned to Daenerys, and she smiled faintly at him.

The trip back to the camp was somber, so much so that if Tyrion hadn’t watched it with his own eyes, he would have thought they’d had a defeat, not a victory.

Tyrion knew that many of these men had believed they would have a bigger fight, yet it had been fairly quick, ending in surrender and a burned mound of slavers; then hours spent climbing buildings in sweltering heat, to untie miserable civilians, torn and bleeding, many dead or dying, and carry them down from the rooftops. All those alive, in agony, weeping or screaming or begging to die. 

Daenerys had spent much of the day in a council with the Yunkish people, the people she had freed, establishing who would rule Yunkai now. They needed an army of their own, that they might not be attacked again. 

After that, she went to the infirmary, to see the people who’d been taken down from the rooftops. Of course she had to see them herself, Tyrion thought.

He stepped closer, to listen to a murmured conversation she was having with a young girl. His Valyrian was not good, and his Ghiscari was worse, he could make out very little of what was being said.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner”, Tyrion thought Daenerys was saying.

“You’re here now”, the girl responded.

Tyrion realized Jon was standing nearby as well; he’d stayed at Daenerys’ side since they’d all met up in the pyre of slavers.

He was with her now, as they approached their camp, only leaving her to speak to his men and change his clothes. Tyrion watched Daenerys enter her tent. 

Would she speak to him now? 

He was anxious, but he waited; she must be exhausted. And she was not well. This day must have taken a toll on her. 

He wondered if it might wait until morning. She had assured him, and he trusted her...his thoughts faded as she stepped from her tent. His eyes followed her across the camp, watched her approach the food tent, pointing to meat that was gristle or fatty, and had them wrap it for her. She walked back to her tent and Tyrion frowned.

All the belief in the world, all his trust in her, did not allay his concern; he needed to know what the fuck she was doing. 

He loved her. He trusted her. He had been instrumental in destroying her in some other life he didn’t remember. He didn’t want to make her feel as if he doubted her or would turn on her.

But he had to know.

He walked toward the tent. “Your Grace?” he called from outside, not wanting to barge in on her. 

“Come on in, Lord Tyrion,” she responded.

He entered the tent, and stood for a moment, mystified. She was wearing a robe over her clothing, and gloves. She was sitting at a table, basting the meat with some paste from a little jar. She’d had cooking supplies set up, and Tyrion say down across from her. 

The paste smelled delicious, and his stomach growled.

“You’re taking up cooking now?” He asked lightly, hoping he sounded casual.

She glanced up at him. “I think you know this isn’t for anyone to eat. I’m glad you’re here. Jon is coming, he’ll be here soon.”

“What’s it for?”

“I need to remember unequivocally what it smells like when it’s cooking. It’s quite savory. You need to know, too. To remember. You rode Viserion. I don’t know if you bonded with her. But I know she knows you. She likes you. And Jon...”

As if on cue, Jon entered the tent.

He frowned, watching her slather the paste on the meat. “That meat is fat and gristle,” he told her, sitting down. 

“It’s not for eating,” Daenerys said. 

“That paste smells good,” he said, reaching his hand toward it.

“No,” Daenerys practically shrieked at him, and he pulled back as if scalded, staring at her. “It’s not for eating,” she repeated. “I’ll be dead soon,” she said bluntly, making both men wince. “And even if I survive, you both need to be familiar with this scent. Especially you, Jon. You are bonded to Rhaegal. He loves you. I’m not willing to take this chance.”

“What chance?” Jon asked, watching as she laid the meat out and lit a fire under it. As it cooked, the scent filled the tent and Tyrion felt his stomach growl again. 

“This is basilisk blood,” she said, indicating the paste. “I couldn’t convey its scent by describing it. I need you to know. To smell it. So no matter how hungry you are, you’ll never eat something that smells like this. It’s too dangerous. I don’t ever want you to have to carry the weight I’ve been carrying.”

“How did you get basilisk blood?” Jon asked her.

“I had my suppliers bring it to me. I couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if...if someone gave it to you. After what happened in that vision, I suppose I’m hyper vigilant. I thought today, after all the horror we saw, you would have a strong enough association with this scent to avoid it. I need you both to remember it. Jon, you remember the vision. What Kings Landing looked like...after. You must imprint this scent into your mind, with that memory.”

After a few minutes, Daenerys took the meat off the flames and began gathering everything she’d used, laying it all into a wooden cart; then removed the gloves and robe, tossing them into the cart as well. She started to drag the cart, and Jon stood. 

“I’ll do that. Where are you bringing it?”

“Far enough from camp that no bit of it will end up anywhere near my men. Then I’m going to have Drogon burn it to ash.”

Tyrion watched them leave the tent, then decided to get food-food they could eat-and bring it back to the tent, as well as a jug of Daenerys’ beloved honeyed wine.

They returned a few minutes later, and Tyrion assured them that it was him who brought the food and had watched it while they were gone. 

They ate together in silence. Jon leaned over and kissed Daenerys’ temple, telling her he had to meet with his men, and would return. 

“Varys told you I had received the basilisk blood,” Daenerys said, drinking her wine with an almost childlike relish.

“He did. You must understand, he was concerned-“

“I understand, Tyrion. But he could have come to me.”

“I tried-“

“I know you did. But he didn’t. I cannot trust him. He consistently expects the worst of me, and I cannot have people around me who spend all their time acting against me.”

“He wasn’t going to act against you. He wanted to watch you to see what you were going to do.”

“He could have just asked. I’d have put him off as I did you, but I’d have told him tonight. I keep giving him chances, and he keeps doing this.”

“He wasn’t sure what you intended-“

“He could have asked,” Daenerys repeated. “I know I’m far from perfect. I know I have a temper, and I know that too often I give in to that temper. I know also that in my attempts to hold back that temper, I give too much leeway to people. I know that I tend toward being too harsh or too lenient. And I’m not only a young girl anymore. I’m a woman. A queen. And yet I still have so much to learn. I’ve made many mistakes. Not as bad as in that other life, but still too many. But I’ve only just begun, Tyrion. I’m learning. And I may not even survive long enough to learn all I want to, to be the queen I’ve so longed to be. But I have to be able to trust my advisors. Varys knows far too much, and does far too little good with it.”

“I realize that. I know that it’s hard for you to believe he is loyal to you, when he keeps doing things like this. But it’s hard for him. He’s served terrible rulers-“

“Yes. He’s served terrible rulers. And he’s hurt and scarred and can’t trust anyone. But I can’t trust him, either.”

“He wouldn’t harm you.”

“He tried to poison me in my vision,” she said.

“Seems like we were all terrible in your vision. Except you.”

“I was the most terrible of all,” she said, shuddering. “I burned a city full of innocents. Terrified civilians. I deliberately targeted them.”

“You were poisoned.”

“I refused to give the North their independence.”

“Northern independence is not a good idea, Daenerys. You’re being unusually generous with them, but once you’ve given them the loans, you’ll have to focus your energy and wealth on your own Kingdoms. Even here, you’ll want to help them. These people revere you. The only thing between the North and starvation, is your charity. They like to think of themselves as a proud people, but what are they, if not beggars? They’ll starve without your aid.”

“Not once the glass gardens are rebuilt.”

“Which cannot be done until after winter.”

“It can. Lord Willas and Lady Sarella were working on it with me. We’ve ordered the materials, work should be starting soon.”

Tyrion stared at her. “And have you figured that into their debt to you?”

“No. It’s a gift. To Jon. I love him, Tyrion. It’s the stupidest thing for me, to love him so much. But I do. And to be truthful, I love Arya too. She’s become a friend to me. And she saved my life. Bran has helped me immeasurably in this war. Winterfell is their home, and between the Boltons and the dead, it’s all but a ruin. All the other things I am doing, are a loan. But not this. This is a gift to them; to Jon, to Arya and Bran, who have become dear to me. In my vision, I had hoped so desperately to be accepted by them. I thought maybe I would marry Jon and be part of his pack.” Her voice broke a little. “That went very badly. They hated me. But now...they’ve been friends. Bran and Arya, anyway. I have all this wealth that was given to me as a gift or tribute. I want to do something for them. Not as a foreign queen, a queen they refused, or even as their own queen in the unlikely event they do choose fealty. Not as a queen at all. As a friend.”

“You returned the Crown of Winter to them.”

“Yes. It’s Jon’s crown really, and I felt it was...destiny, I suppose. To give it back to them. For it to be me, a Targaryen, to return the crown to the Starks, that my ancestor took from them.”

“You should know, the Northmen are far more admiring of you now, than you realize. Did you know the coins here have your face on them?”

She nodded, smiling. “Lord Tarly showed me.”

“I heard them talking. The Northerners. They saw the coins. They see how you’re adored here. And it led to a conversation about the night of the battle of Winterfell. They’ve not forgotten about that. You were right in that they love Jon. But they speak very highly of you as well.”

“I’m glad. More reason to make certain not to just let them starve. It can’t possibly be a bad political move, to assist a neighboring kingdom, so long as I’m not leaving my own wanting.”

“I suppose not. It’s a diplomatic choice, in any event. Queen Alysanne was quite beloved in the North. They named Queenscrown after her. Painted the tower’s merlons gold in her honor.”

“I remember reading about that,” Daenerys said. 

“They haven’t always hated Targaryens. I know you don’t like to speak of it, or let it have any power, but you have a lot of fear in you. Fear of being a tyrant like your father, or weak like your ancestor Aenys. You have shown in every way that you are not your father. And nor are you like Aenys.”

“I fear I am like Aenys. He wanted to be loved, and it made him indecisive. I am often indecisive. But...it’s because I don’t want to do harm. I don’t want to become...the person I became in my vision. I so desperately wanted to be loved, once...”

“You don’t still?”

“I suppose I do...It would be good, to be loved by the people. I want more, to be loved by my friends. By those I myself love. And despite my best efforts, I must own that I want to be feared by my enemies.”

“I can assure you, both of those aims have been achieved.”

“And the people here... I love them. I cherish them.”

“And they love you.”

“As for the people of Westeros...I’ll be gone before they’ve had a chance to know me, let alone love me. I want them to respect me. To speak well of me when I’m gone. I don’t want to be remembered as a mad queen, but I don’t want to be remembered as a weak queen, either. There’s still so much I don’t know.”

“Daenerys, you grew up on the streets, with no real education. You can’t blame yourself for that. You have unwavering integrity when it comes to certain ideas. But yes, you have a lot to learn. Aenys grew up with the best education. The best of everything. And still had these issues. You are far more like Alysanne than Aenys. But when you’re angry...”

“I’m like my father.”

“No, you are not like your father. Not even a little. Daenerys, please, stop thinking that way. That’s what makes you indecisive. I know your vision has made you uncertain. You’re so afraid to hurt people, but now, here, against the Slavers, you’ve shown that you do have boundaries. And the Seven or whichever gods help those who cross them. It doesn’t always have to come to this. You’ll grow more confident, and as you do, you will be less indecisive but also less impulsive.”

“It’s funny...I’ve made terrible mistakes. I used to tell myself, if I look back, I am lost. But I’ve had to look back, so much, since my vision, to get where I am. And even further back now, as I read about the failures and successes of my family, my ancestors. If I don’t look back, I can’t clearly look forward. I will have learned nothing.”

“Wise words,” Tyrion said, and he poured them both more wine.

“I wanted to restore my family’s name.”

“You’ve indeed restored your family’s name, and then some. You’ve accomplished what generations of your family have tried and failed. You’ve brought dragons back into the world. And now Jon is a Targaryen as well.”

“Yes. And maybe he’ll have children one day, and our line will continue.” She sighed deeply. “I just hope he can embrace the dragon side of himself as wholly as the wolf side. Especially now. When I’m gone, my children will need...” she broke off, and Tyrion could see that it was painful for her to think about. “They’ll need him.”

“And maybe you’ll survive.”

“Maybe.” She shook her head as if to chase her dark thoughts. “You had mentioned getting married,” she said, changing the subject. “What happened with that?”

“I haven’t gone to her yet.”

“What’s her name?”

“Tysha.” Tyrion drank deeply. “My first wife.”

“Your first wife? You were married to her before?”

Tyrion glanced at her, and sighed heavily. “Speaking of looking back...we do have quite a bit of wine...and I did say I’d tell you this story one day.”

“About your first wife?”

“About why I killed my father.”

************************

Jon had not expected to find his men in a state of utter heartbreak. They looked broken when he approached them, and began to tell him the horrors they’d seen. The people they’d carried down from the rooftops, many dead already; but worse in some ways, were those still living. They’d been mutilated and left to die. They’d been there for days. The worst were the children. 

Jon sat with the men to offer them comfort, though he desperately wanted to get back to Daenerys. 

One thing was certain; his men were as glad as Jon himself was that Daenerys had burned the slavers. Such savagery committed against innocents, especially children? could not go unpunished.

It was late when Jon finally was able to get back to Daenerys, who was sitting with Tyrion. They were both quite drunk now and somewhat maudlin, and Tyrion bid them both a good night, almost as soon as Jon came into the tent.

“Is he all right?”

“We were talking about his father.” 

Jon walked over to her, sitting beside her, and she poured him some wine.

“Are you all right?” He asked her.

“I am,” she said, smiling.

He sat beside her and kissed her temple. It had to be hard for her; the day had been horrendous, despite the victory, and the smell of the basilisk blood she’d cooked to familiarize himself and Tyrion with it, must weigh on her with the atrocious memories it brought. 

He started to tell her he was here for her, when she spoke.

“I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“I spoke with Bran earlier today. He told me that your mother sent a raven. When she ran away with my brother...your father. She sent a message to her father, to let him know she was safe.”

“Did she?”

“It was intercepted by Petyr Baelish. Then Baelish had someone tell your grandfather and uncle that my brother had kidnapped her and raped her.”

Jon sighed in despair. “What were they thinking?”

“Rhaegar wanted to take Lyanna as a second wife, but the Septon refused. He agreed to the annulment, but only so the Septon would do the marriage rites. Rhaegar knew the annulment would never hold up. He never intended it to. He planned to overthrow our father and then try to make a case for a second marriage. Elia knew. They hid in Dorne. They never expected things to go the way they did.”

“And they all died,” Jon said dully. “And if the annulment was invalid, so was the marriage. And I’m a bastard like I always have been.”

“Jon...there are bastard children all over the realm. And they’re taught the same thing you were, that bastards are somehow not as good as trueborn children. And look at you. You became the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch. You became the King in the North. Not through birthright, but through merit. Every bastard in the Seven Kingdoms may now have a hero they can look up to now. A hero they can identify with. They will know now, without doubt, that a bastard can achieve greatness.”

Jon looked at her, at the tenderness on her face, and felt swamped with love so strong it was a physical ache.

“They split the realm,” he said.

“Petyr Baelish split the realm. They may have caused some problems, no doubt about that. But nowhere near what Baelish caused intercepting that letter and making sure to have your grandfather hear lies.”

“Why? Why did he do it?”

“To cause chaos. To destroy your Uncle Brandon. He hated him because of Catelyn Tully. Baelish was in love with her. He challenged your uncle to a duel, and lost.”

Jon shook his head. “He caused a war because he was in love with Lady Stark.”

“Maybe two wars.”

“Two?”

“He was an extremely dangerous man, according to Bran. But the thing you should know, Jon, is that regardless of not being technically, legally trueborn, you were loved. You were wanted. You were no mistake. Your parents may have been foolish, but they weren’t selfishly willing to destroy the realm. They expected to be able to overthrow my father and challenge the old gods and the new, and the Seven. It may have been arrogant, but it wasn’t meant to turn into a war.”

“It always seems like terrible things happen, even with good intentions,” Jon muttered.

“Sadly, yes.” She sighed.

Jon took her hands. “I love you.” 

She smiled. “I love you.”

“Marry me, Dany.”

“I would, Jon. I just...I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not.”

“Because of the vision.”

“Yes, in part.”

“What’s the other part?”

“The North is home to you, Jon, and I-“

“You are home to me,” he said. “I’ve told you this. It took me a long time to realize it. But it’s the truth.”

She looked at him and a shiver ran through her. Her eyes brightened with tears, and she stood up, turning away from him; squaring her small shoulders, fisting then releasing her hands.

Jon watched her, as her seemingly fragile form gathered itself, and when she turned back to him, the vulnerable woman was gone, the imperious queen and her untouchable strength stood in her place, the very tears frozen on her exquisite face. 

It broke him in a way, to see her armor her emotions against his love.

“Dany, I’m sorry. It hurts you when I say that, and I don’t want to hurt you. You picked a fight with me the last time I said it, if I remember correctly. But-“

“It hurts me when you say that because it’s how I felt about you,” she said quietly.

Something inside him leapt in joy at her words, then he realized the tense she had used. He felt as if she’d punched him in the stomach.

“But not anymore,” he said.

“I’m sorry, Jon. I want to believe you. I can’t even put into words how much I want to believe you. How much I want that feeling back. But I can’t feel safe as I did once. I know it’s not rational now, in this life, to hold another life against you. It’s not fair. But sometimes emotion isn’t rational or fair.”

“Dany-“

“Let me finish, please. And I hope you know that I’m not attacking you. I understand. You were afraid, you were traumatized by what I had done. You’d just walked through a destroyed city full of burned children. But for me...I wasn’t myself. Whether it was poison or madness or rage or grief or trauma...when you took me into your arms and kissed me, I thought I was finally home. Safe. You were my love, my home, my family. Blood of my blood. I knew we would have hard times, but I believed I was loved. I trusted you. We would have a child. A future. And then...” she broke off. 

“And then I murdered you. And the babe inside you. Our child.”

She nodded. “I didn’t understand. I know that sounds terrible. After what I’d done, how could I not understand? But I didn’t. I wanted to hate you, when I woke from my vision. When I saw you again I was angry at myself because I couldn’t hate you like I wanted to, but I couldn’t trust you, either.”

“Of course you couldn’t. We all behaved without honor, except you.”

“Jon, I didn’t behave entirely with honor, either. I was unwilling to bend on the issue of Northern independence. And I had my reasons, but I’d spent my entire previous campaign wanting to rule and serve by the consent of those I was ruling and serving. Being so close to the throne, made me afraid. Tyrion and Varys, all their plans and information, everything was wrong. We were being played, but we didn’t know it. I started to mistrust everyone.”

“You came to save our lives, and we treated you like an enemy.”

“Yes. Your Northerners were petty and ungrateful and dishonorable. But I should have taken into consideration how damaged they were. How afraid. How mistrustful. I do think they were wrong. Of course I do. From where I’m standing, they were. But from where they’re standing, maybe not. I don’t want to ever let anything like that happen again. And I can’t change it if I don’t acknowledge my part in it.”

“Your part,” Jon said. “Your part was to come and save their lives-“

“And then I expected them to surrender their hard earned independence, after I spent years of my life, dedicated to fostering freedom. I lost my way. It’s like Bran said, I stopped listening to my own intuition. I was so focused on the throne that I lost sight of why I wanted it in the first place.”

“You hold yourself accountable and excuse everyone else-“

“I’m not excusing them, Jon. But except in cases where I’m dealing with known enemies or oppressors, I don’t have the right to force people to behave the way I want them to. The only behavior I can change is my own. I can be angry as I please at everyone else, but if I don’t look critically at myself, my own actions, it could all happen again.”

Jon sighed. “And us? I mean you and me. I don’t know what I can do to earn your trust back.”

Her eyes flickered, and for a second she was his Dany again, then it passed, and her face was cold. 

“I have...a level of trust. You’re here. We’re alone. I don’t believe you’ll harm me now. And I think if we’re fighting a known evil, you’d be on my side. I know you refused to let Varys tell you about the basilisk blood. But sometimes it’s not a choice between me and treachery, or an objective, known evil. It’s your people, your family, your duty.”

Jon sighed deeply, running his hands through his hair. 

“We’re going to keep getting stuck on this,” he said. 

“I’m sorry,” she said simply. “It’s not something I can change, it’s visceral, it’s emotional, it’s deep inside. You were Westeros to me, Jon. My home. My everything. I loved you more than I loved myself. And I may know on a rational level why you did what you did, and even forgive it. We’ve been certainly enjoying some closeness as of late. And I cherish it. I cherish you. I love you. I’ll always love you. But there’s a depth, a level of intimacy, when you speak of...of truly being home to each other. And I can’t feel safe anymore with you at that level.”

Jon nodded, despair choking him. “I love you. You know that at least. Don’t you?”

She nodded. “I do. But you said love is the death of duty. And long as you hold duty as sacred, it will always come first.”

“You want me to betray my duty.”

“No. What I want doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“I want you to be true to yourself, Jon. Duty means never being true to yourself, because your first cause will always be something outside yourself. And that means you can be swayed. So if betraying me starts to seem like the right thing to you-“

“It wasn’t right. I know it wasn’t right. It didn’t feel right, and I regretted it the minute I did it.”

“But you did it.”

“I will never do it again.”

“Maybe not. But I won’t be here much longer. Can’t we just...enjoy the time we have together?”

He looked at her, then moved toward her, gathering her into his arms and kissing the top of her head. “Aye, we can.”


	41. Chapter Forty One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have many thanks today! 
> 
> Thank you Stevepm68, for writing the Astapor battle scene for me! You are incredibly awesome and I am so grateful!
> 
> Thank you ReganX for your amazing insights about Jon’s feelings of wanting to protect Ned’s children, and also about Varys AND about the coins! You are amazing!
> 
> And as always thank you all who read, comment and leave kudos! :-) You inspire me so much!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Jon gives Dany her mother’s crown, Dany’s armies take Astapor, plans are made. A lot of conversations happen! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! :-)

Chapter Forty One

Jon sat in his tent, across from Lord Talhart and two of his men.

He’d been watching Daenerys spar with Daario all morning. He was ridiculously jealous over it. He remembered watching Arya practice with her, back at Kings Landing, how she would put her hands on Daenerys to position her. 

Daario hadn’t had to do that, yet Jon was full of envy just the same. He wondered if Daenerys would spar with him. She’d gotten much better since those days long ago at Dragonstone, when she’d first started learning. 

He’d watched her move with a grace and precision she’d lacked in the beginning. He could not help his flood of pride when a particularly deft move had Daario thrown backward and the men around them cheering. 

“Where did you learn that?” Daario had asked her, visibly impressed.

“Arya Stark taught me that one,” she had responded, grinning.

Jon had to fight to keep a smug smile from splitting his face. 

Then Talhart had arrived with his men. 

Jon could see the man was frustrated. The battle at Yunkai had been definitive, and the Northmen, despite the grimness of the day, had been talking about it.

“While you were earning glory with the rest of the Northmen, I have completed your errand, Your Grace.”

“I appreciate it,” Jon said. “There is one more fight to come, and it’s the big one. The one that will decide everything. You’ll get your glory. This errand, as you call it, was important.”

Talhart seemed slightly appeased by that, and removed the wooden box he’d purchased on Jon’s behalf from his satchel.

“I don’t know what it should look like, Your Grace, so I have no way to know if it’s right.”

“It’s right,” Jon said, taking the box.

“You haven’t even looked at it.”

Jon opened the box. He knew it was right because he’d asked Bran as soon as he’d gotten the message from Talhart that he’d made the purchase and was on his way back.

Inside the box, was Rhaella Targaryen’s crown. He lifted it carefully, almost reverently. 

It was simple but intricately carved, made of gold and Valyrian steel. Rubies and dragonglass decorated it all along the sides, and at its center, a ruby, nestled among a setting of three carefully sculpted, thin silver dragons. He noticed that it had been fashioned almost to resemble waves. It was delicate, light, it felt almost like a toy; Jon knew that this was because it was primarily sculpted from Valyrian steel. 

“It was her mother’s?” Talhart asked.

“It was. Her brother had to sell it when they were children.”

Talhart nodded. “Your grandmother’s, then,” he added.

“Aye, my grandmother’s.” He studied it, imagining how it would look nestled on Dany’s head, among her silvery braids. 

He remembered Bran telling them about it. The day Dany had returned King Torrhen’s crown to Jon and his siblings...cousins...

The gesture had been one of pure kindness. Jon hoped that she didn’t think he was giving her back this crown out of some obligation or to diminish what she’d done. What it had meant to them, and to the North, to have Torrhen Stark’s crown returned to the North and to his descendants.

Talhart told him that he and his men were going to train, and Jon was alone with his thoughts.

He wanted to rush to her, to give her this crown now. He was so eager, he felt like a child. 

He was also afraid. If she thought it was some kind of exchange for the Crown of Winter, or worse, a gift to try to win back her trust, it would sully the act of giving back to her a piece of something she never should have lost. 

He remembered Lord Willas, how he wanted Jon to give it to her because he thought it would make her happier coming from him.

As deeply as Jon wanted to be the one to give it to her, to see her face when he told her what it was, a part of him wondered if he should instead give it to Willas to present to her.

Then it would be pure, shining, without any history of betrayal, blood, or question of motive.

He put the crown back into its box and walked outside.

Daenerys was sweating from the exertion of her practice, gulping water and laughing as some of it missed her lush mouth and trickled down her neck.

He wanted to give it to her, right then, but he thought maybe it would be better after the battle. She had told him that Astapor was the first city she had ever taken. Might it be more apt to give her back this piece of her history after she’d reclaimed her first conquest?

He remembered then that she had said it would be her last, and he shuddered.

But maybe she didn’t mean it that way, he reasoned. Maybe she simply hoped to never have to take another city.

He remembered though, that she had told him, “I’m no one’s peace.”

Another thought came to him, pounding into him like a beating. 

What if she died fighting for Astapor? 

He walked over to her now. He’d never been willing to let fear win; but his fear of losing her was like a crashing tide that swept away everything else. If he didn’t give it to her now, he might not have the chance.

“I have something for you. A gift.”

She smiled, childlike excitement lighting her eyes. “A gift?”

Gods, she’s so fucking adorable, he thought. 

“Yes. It’s in my tent.” Her smile turned suggestive, and he laughed. “Not that. Although if you want to...”

She laughed as well, and followed him.

He had never been so nervous about giving a gift before. 

He lifted the box and opened it, taking out the crown. He started to tell her what it was, but her eyes widened in recognition, and she gasped, taking it and staring at it.

Of course she remembered it, he thought in realization. It wasn’t an artifact from centuries ago, lost to the ages. This was a thing she’d seen with her own eyes.

“How did you find it?” Dany asked, almost in a whisper. He could hear the tears in her voice.

“Bran,” he said. “He told us what you said to Lord Willas. About having to sell it. I asked him if he could find it.”

She raised her eyes to his and there was so much love and gratitude in them, he wanted to reach out and pull her into his arms.

“Jon, I can’t even tell you...how much it means to have this again.” She turned her eyes back to the crown, looking at it closely, reveling in every detail. “It’s as if...as if you’ve given me back a piece of my childhood. And...of my mother.” She looked at him again. “Thank you so much.” 

She laid it gingerly on the table and wrapped her arms around him. He held her, kissing the top of her head. 

She pulled back suddenly, her expression full of concern. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Jon...I hope you didn’t have to sell something dear to you to buy this for me. I know you have so much to worry about with the North, and-“

“I didn’t,” he assured her. He knew she was happy to have her mother’s crown back, he knew by her face, by her words, that she treasured this gift...and yet here she was, worried about him, about the North. 

He felt as if he could do great violence to the next person who called her selfish in his presence.

“I borrowed the gold from Lord Willas. I offered him Longclaw for collateral, but he-“

“Longclaw! You offered him Longclaw?”

“I did. But he said he would take my word as collateral. He was already looking for it. He wanted you to have it back as much as I did.”

She smiled tenderly at him and leaned back into his embrace, holding him tighter now.

“I can’t believe you offered him your sword.”

“It’s just a sword, Dany. You-“

“It’s not just a sword,” she said fiercely, and her eyes were on his again. “You know it. Your sword was given to you by a man you loved and respected. He gave it to you because of what he saw in you.”

“Aye,” he admitted, pinned by those gorgeous eyes of hers. “You have the right of it. It’s not just a sword. But I’d have gotten it back eventually. And if not...I wanted you to have your mother’s crown back.”

She nodded, and the tears were back. “Thank you, Jon.”

He kissed her forehead, and they stood in silence, wrapped in each other’s arms.

“Are you worried about tomorrow?” He asked after a few minutes. 

She sighed. “How not? Too many people will be affected by this. Too many will suffer if we don’t win.”

“And it’s your life’s work.”

She nodded. “It is.” 

“We’ll win.”

“I know.” 

The night passed with more planning. They’d met with Bran via the glass candle. They went over everything several times to ensure success. 

They didn’t drink; they would be leaving in the middle of the night to march toward Astapor.

Jon joined the men when it was time, glancing back at Daenerys, who was in her leather and mail, her hair pulled back into its braids. 

She was talking to Randyll Tarly, and Jon suspected the man had spent a lifetime scowling just to save his smiling for her. 

Jon found himself smiling now. Perhaps he’d done the same.

Ser Jorah walked over to her, and she turned her smile on him. Jon thought her smile was like sunlight; everyone in its glow seemed warmer and more hopeful for it. Or maybe Jon was just ridiculously in love with her. It was hard to say. 

Drogon landed beside her; Truly, he was enormous, much larger than when Jon had met him. He wondered suddenly about Rhaegal. He missed the green dragon, more than he’d noticed until he thought about it. 

Daenerys turned back before mounting him, her bright eyes scouring the men until she saw him. Then she smiled.

He smiled back at her, his chest constricting. 

She mounted Drogon, and they took off into the night sky.

It was before sunrise. The slavemaster on duty was sitting at his desk when a shout followed by a muffled scream was heard. 

He rose from his desk and walked towards the door when a guard stepped in.

“There is trouble. the recruits are storming the armory!" 

“Send word to the sellswords and sound the alarm!" 

A few more screams were heard as the slavemaster and the guard walked out onto the grounds of the Unsullied base. In the distance he could make out a group of Unsullied recruits crowded around the entrance to the armory. As the guard went to sound the alarm he was felled by a rain of spears . 

The young Unsullied jumped in celebration. The slavemaster turned to run back into his office when a second rain of spears killed him. There was more celebrating and even some shouting before Grey Worm appeared in the midst of them and began to slap the boys arms down causing them to quiet and some cower under his glare. 

“Be quiet" he said. "Now is not the time! We must secure the rear and side gates and bridges along with the bridge that leads towards The Plaza of Punishment. Then we must secure The Gate of the Golden Harpy to allow Queen Daenerys's army in." 

A shout of “alarm!" was heard in the direction of the main gate before the guards were killed. The guards at the rear and side gates were sleeping when their throats were slit. 

Grey Worm left 100 recruits armed with lances along with a trained Unsullied who had snuck in with him to guard each of the three bridges into the unsullied camp. The remaining 150 armed with short swords he led on a mad dash across the plaza of pain towards the gate of the Golden Harpy.

The guards positioned there heard a commotion from the Unsullied barracks and sent someone to find out what it was. As the guards looked on they saw the man had stopped when he was overtaken by a mass of men running towards them. 

Alarms were shouted as the guards prepared for the onslaght. The initial Unsullied recruits were killed by the guards, but soon they were overwhelmed by the Unsullied. The guards on the wall had run in fear. 

Grey Worm ran up the stairs to the gateroom. In here was the mechanism for raising the portcullis. As the recruits secured both the rampart on the wall and the rear of the gate, Grey Worm pulled out the locking pin and the counterweights lowered slowly raising the portcullis. Once it stopped two wooden beams were set in place on each end to keep the portcullis from dropping closed. Then Unsullied dashed thru and removed the wooden beam closing the main gate and others open the doors to the outside. On top of the wall Grey Worm lit a torch and waved it above his head, the signal that the gate was secure, and for the Dothraki and calvary to enter the city.

"Good Morning, Your Grace," Ser Davos spoke as he reached the top of the hill where the queen and her advisors stood to watch events unfold. 

“Good Morning Ser Davos," the queen replied. 

Davos and Tyrion exchanged nods in greeting one another. 

Next Randyll Tarly strode up the hill. 

“Your Grace,” he spoke, and bowed as the queen acknowledged him.

Is everyone ready?" 

“Yes, Your Grace. Once we see the signal, Ser Jorah and Qhono will lead the Dothraki, followed By Jon Snow and the Knights of the Vale. They all know to maintain silence as they ride to the outer bridge and they must be two abreast to cross it." 

The queen nodded in acknowledgement. 

“It is so far from here to the gate." Tarly continued, "A little over a mile, Your Grace. As long as the gate is secure, things will be fine.”

The Queen turned and looked behind her. At the bottom of the hill were 200 mounted Dothraki, and about the same number of Vale knights. They were to make the initial charge. Once inside, they were to dismount and secure the Plaza of Pain and reinforce the forces guarding the unsullied base. Next, another force of 1,000 Dothraki and the remaining Vale knights would ride into the city. These forces, along with the initial troops that entered, would dismount and start to take the city, once the main body of Unsullied and the remaining Dothraki and Westerosi arrived . Finally the remaining forces save 1,000 Unsullied who would remain with the queen and to guard the supply caravan, would enter the city.

The queen had adressed the combined forces the day before. her orders were specific and would be followed by all under her command. slaves and civillians were not to be harmed. Slavemasters were to be taken alive unless they raised a weapon against them. Anyone raising a weapon against them was to be killed. There would be no destruction of property or looting. Anybody disobeying these orders will be sent to the dungeons in Mereen for a length of time as the queen saw fit.

Now as morning approached the group stood nervously waiting. Behind them horses and riders were shifting uneasily, like a drawn arrow, waiting to be let loose. 

Suddenly, in the distance a flame was seen, being waved back n forth above the gate. Without waiting Randyll Tarly turned to Ser Jorah waiting below and shouted; "Go! Go! Go!"

From the top of the hill Jorah and a Dothraki could be seen leading the charge across the flat plain . Two by two they rode, the sound of the hooves like thunder. From the gate, four men with torches appeared. These were Unsullied, marking the front of the bridge so it could be seen by the riders. 

Ser Jorah heard nothing as he rode. Not even the the hooves of his horse. It felt like forever before he saw the torches marking the bridge. Suddenly the sound of his horse crossing the bridge startled him from his focus. Then under the gate and into the city. As Jorah and the other riders dismounted a Dothraki recruit took their horses. 

Jorah turned and saw Grey Worm hand a torch to another Unsullied, and turned and descended the stairs. He met Jorah as riders continued to stream through the gate. 

“We surprised them, little opposition so far." 

Jorah smiled and replied, "good work, Grey Worm. will take the dothraki and reinforce the barracks." 

Grey Worm nodded and the Dothraki followed Jorah while the now arriving Vale knights would reinforce the gate. 

Jon dismounted and walked up to Grey Worm, who had returned to his post above the gate. They nodded to one another and Grey Worm informed Jon that things were going well. There was light resistance and Jorah was moving to reinforce the Unsullied barracks. Off in the distance they could see the Dothraki arriving into the Unsullied camp.

Looking back over the wall, the main attacking force was seen crossing the plain. Once they arrived it would give Jorah 1,200 Dothraki, and Jon Snow over 1,00 Vale Knights. When the main force of Unsullied arrived, they would then attack towards the Great Pyramid, with the Dothraki attacking straight to the pyramid while Jon led the Vale knights in securing the fighting pits then capturing the bridges across the river and attacking the great pyramid from the side.

As the sun began to rise, the Unsullied arrived at the gate. A signal horn was blown and the Dothraki charged thru the city towards the pyramid. They met light resistance as the sellswords hired to defend the city had no stomach for fighting. Jon Snow and the Vale Knights took the fighting pits and bridges crossing the river and met the Dothraki at the Great Pyramid. 

The sun had been in the sky barely the time it takes a man to arise and break his fast in the morning, and the city was liberated.

*******************

A feast in Essos, Jon noted, was not so different from those in Westeros. Particulars varied; the food and wine and music were not at all the same. But the eating and drinking, as the musicians played, and warriors cheered each other and told their stories, reminded him of home.

Here, though, nobody was going to ignore Daenerys or her contributions.

Jon sighed. The night of the feast at Winterfell, they had cheered her too. She didn’t know. She’d kept slipping out. Because of the vision, Jon knew now. 

He felt a dark wave of shame. He’d allowed her to be isolated, had indulged Tormund in his excitement, praising Jon for riding a dragon. It should have been a comfort that at least Tormund had raised a toast to her. But it wasn’t, because Tormund had been alone in doing so.

But that had been another life. In this one, her name had come up repeatedly for toasts that night. Jon wished he had remembered the other life sooner. He’d have gone right outside after her and convinced her to come in, to hear the way they spoke of her, how they celebrated and appreciated all she had done.

Jon shook his head to clear it. This was a night of victory, and he wanted to enjoy it. 

After the battle, Daenerys had burned thousands of Slavers; but after what they’d seen in Yunkai, no one had a single complaint about it. 

She’d spent hours afterward speaking with her people there, helping them plan their new government. 

Jon had noticed something; though he did not speak or understand Valyrian, he could hear in her tone absolute authority. In Westeros, she could at times be firm, but she was often hesitant. She was uncertain. She was trying to know Westeros better, and Jon admired her for it. But here, she was quite confident. There was no hesitation, no fear, no uncertainty. 

She was met with respect by those she addressed; Jon had developed a keen perceptiveness in his youth-a bastard had to-and without knowing what was being said, he could tell that a few of the men she addressed had been enemies at one time.

Some of them had attempted to debate with her, and she would turn to them, and her voice was hard and sharp as Valyrian steel when she responded. Her chin would lift in a manner so that she almost seemed to be looking down on them; despite how truly small she was, the men seemed to wither and shrink. Then she would continue speaking, and they would seem to relax a bit. She was fair, Jon knew. But she would not compromise on some issues, and that was clear as glass.

Imperious and immovable, she was not afraid here. Not uncertain in the least.

Jon knew that confidence would come to her in Westeros over time, he had no doubt of it. He knew also that the vision had shaken her to her core. She cared far more for the smallfolk than the highborn, and she had targeted the smallfolk in her firestorm. 

Jon suddenly ached for her. All her mistrust in him, because of what she’d seen, had hurt him, made him desperate to earn her trust back. But seeing her here, her unflappable demeanor, Jon realized that she’d lost her trust in herself. She was self assured here, because she hadn’t burned a city full of innocent civilians here. 

Jon wasn’t sure what he could do to restore her faith in herself. How to make her understand that she was the best thing that could have happened to Westeros; that they would all be dead without her, just enslaved corpses; that even if they had somehow won, even if Arya had managed to get to the Night King and kill him instead of being overrun, their women and children would have died in the crypts and Cersei would have done the rest; that as much as she believed she would be lost without her advisors, it was they who would be lost without her.

He wanted to rebuild her faith in herself now, as much as he wanted her to trust him, but how could he? It was something he knew she had to rebuild on her own. But one thing Jon knew unequivocally; he would try to help her.

After her talks, but before the feast, she’d spoken with Bran, who had assured her that the Iron Bank had heard of the victories at Volantis, Yunkai and now Astapor, and would be making their announcements and demands in a few days.

They would call back immediate payments, and refuse new loans, for anyone who made their fortune through slavery. 

Jon could see that Dany was happy; deeply, genuinely happy. 

He was sitting close to her as they celebrated their victory, as were all the officers, and he noted that she raised toasts to them, and to him as well. She would not allow them to be made to feel as she had that night at Winterfell. 

He noted how her skin seemed to glow, her face lit from within...and her arms and shoulders and back were bare in the soft blue dress she wore. His blood stirred as he watched her.

Fascinating, how in Westeros she favored red and black, her family’s colors, whereas here she mostly wore blue. 

When the feasting was over, he accompanied her to her room, and as they reached her door, she looked at him, inviting but a little anxious. 

“Do you want to come in?”

“If you’ll have me,” he said. 

She smiled. “I’ll have you,” she said playfully, and his cock stood at attention. 

Once inside her room, though, she turned to him. “I understand if you don’t want to...I mean, if you don’t...”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asked, perplexed. Did she not realize that he’d wanted her, craved her, since they’d landed? 

She looked at the floor for a moment, taking a deep breath, then returned her gaze to his. 

“I burned people today. And my father...I don’t want you to think I...”

“Dany, I will never think you’re anything like him. You had a victory today. You achieved a goal that was your life’s work, long before you wanted the throne. It’s as you said, this will destroy the slave trade as we know it. Everywhere. What’s left of it in other cities will eventually crumble with the Iron Bank refusing to fund it. You must be happy. I can see it. You have every right to celebrate.”

She smiled. “I am happy,” she said. “I watched you. Fighting. It’s...intoxicating, really. You’re so good. It made me long for you.”

“I’m here now.”

Her mouth suddenly crushed his, and he kissed her back fervently, stumbling to the bed, Her legs wrapped around him as he entered into her, sweet, wet, hot, and she gasped, her fingernails trailing his back.  
She raised her hips to meet his, arched her back, her mouth at his neck, hot and greedy.  
They fell into each other and as it always was with her, the rest of the world disappeared.

He felt as if he could have her like this for a hundred years and he would still want a hundred more.

They lay in bed after they’d had their fill of each other, his hands running through her hair. 

“Once the Iron Bank makes the announcement, you can go back to Kings Landing and get treated,” Jon said softly, his voice low, almost a plea.

“Jon. I told you this already, I’m not going right back. And anyway, I can’t leave yet.”

“No?” He looked at her face, searching. “Why not?”

She sighed. “When I was in Meereen, slavers took back Astapor and Yunkai.”

“The Iron Bank interceding will prevent that from happening again.”

“Yes, but it won’t stop predatory forces from moving in and harming them. Oppressing them. I have confidence in the people here to build their world as they see fit. It’s like I told Doniphos in Volantis, Braavos was built by former slaves. And it’s one of the greatest cities to ever exist. But...I never had a formal education. And because of that, I made more mistakes than I would have otherwise. I know I’d likely have made mistakes anyway, but not to the same extent. The people here, many of them were denied education as well. I want to ensure that they have the means and the power and the knowledge to build the life and the world they want.” 

“How long do you expect to stay?”

“I’m not really sure. I know many of my Dothraki long for Vaes Dothrak. They long for home, as I always have. I have to speak with them as well. Find out what they want. If they don’t truly wish to come back to Westeros, I won’t force them.”

“They love you. They respect you.”

“That may be. But I love them too, and I will not demand they return to the Seven Kingdoms if it’s not what they want. I think many of them do wish to return. They want to breed horses. But there are those who will wish to stay here. The ones who return, I can reward with land. Those who stay, I’ll have to reward with gold.”

“And what then? They’ll go back to pillaging?”

“No. I’ve spoken to them about this. I hope they’ll stay faithful to our agreements. But they know they were instrumental in defeating the dead. To them, it was a human embodiment of ghost grass. I’ve given my word to return and help stop the grass from taking over, should it happen.”

“Ghost grass?”

“It’s a kind of pale grass that grows beyond Asshai. It’s inedible, and kills all other vegetation. If it were truly to grow over the world, it would be disastrous.”

“Very much like the army of the dead. They’re right about that.”

“Yes. It’s how I convinced them to fight. And why they were wary.”

“I think they’ll follow you.”

“I won’t make them. But I will demand that they don’t go back to rape and pillage.”

“I have no doubt they will obey you.”

“I hope they do.”

“It’s why you wanted power over them. To take a force that once enslaved others, and use that force to end slavery.”

She sighed again. “People will often say that the desire for power is inherently wrong. That the only people fit for power are people who don’t want it. I disagree. Robert Baratheon never wanted power, and he was a terrible king, who allowed atrocities and beggared the kingdom. Wanting power for power’s sake, of course, is a different thing. It’s misguided at best, and at worst, can lead to tyranny. A desire for power over other people. I think Petyr Baelish might be an example. And my father, and Cersei”. She turned to him, her eyes earnest. “But think about this, Jon. If you were never named Lord Commander, you would not have been able to move the Free Folk south of the Wall. If you were never named King in the North, or at least Warden, you would not have come to meet with me. Power means being able to protect people. To ensure that they themselves live in a world that doesn’t strip them of their own power.”

Jon nodded. “You’re right. But sometimes you have to compromise.”

“Yes. Sometimes. But sometimes compromise is not acceptable.”

He laughed. “No?”

“No. There is no compromise between oppression and freedom; between justice and injustice; it would be like a compromise between food and poison. I will not make those kinds of compromises, Jon.”

Jon frowned. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said softly. “And you’re not wrong.”

“What am I thinking?”

“That day you killed me.”

“I wasn’t.”

“It’s understandable if you were. You didn’t know if I would ever be me again. You said it yourself. You were afraid of how many would die while you were waiting for me to recover.”

“Dany...I asked you to forgive. I asked you to show mercy. But-“

“I know. You don’t have to tell me,” she said with a small, bitter laugh. “And there were so many things before that day, that I can’t...I try, but I can’t quite get past. But in that moment, you felt as if that was the compromise I was asking for. To love me and be with me while I burned the world into submission.”

Jon wrapped his arms around her. “I could have waited. I should have waited. The poison would have worn off and-“

“You didn’t know about the poison. And we don’t know if it was only the poison.”

“I should have given you the same chance I was asking you to give everyone else. I was afraid. Dany, my...my uncle, Ned Stark...he saved my life. He put his marriage at risk. He hated lies. Yet he lied for years. I felt like I owed it to him to protect his children. I know it’s no excuse for what I did. I just...I don’t want you to think it was easy. After, I felt...I was a shell, really. I didn’t feel like there was anything to live for anymore. And I know that too, is no excuse. But you deserve to know.”

She nodded, but didn’t answer. 

“He was a good man. I’d be dead if not for him. I felt like I’d be betraying him, if I let harm come to his daughters. He defended you,” Jon added. “That’s another thing you should know. Bran told me. Varys had told Robert that you were with child, and Robert wanted to have you killed. My...my uncle-“

“You can just call him your father, Jon. He was the only father you ever knew. You loved each other. I know who you mean.”

Jon looked at her gratefully. “My father refused to be any part of it. Gave Robert back his Hand pin.”

Daenerys’ eyes suddenly glinted with anger. “I wonder why Varys didn’t tell me this. It could have made a difference in shaping how I dealt with the North.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to remind you how eager he was to murder you.”

“I already knew about that. And I forgave him. I’ve been such a fool.”

“You are no fool, Dany.”

She leaned closer to him, and her heat was comforting, even in the warmth of the room. 

“I’m thinking of something you told me. How you met Sam Tarly. How you wouldn’t let your brothers hurt him. You stood up for him. You protected him. That’s what power is for. To protect people who can’t protect themselves. You made the argument to our Uncle Aemon that every link in a Maester’s chain means something important. That the realm and the Nights Watch needs all kinds of people. You pointed out Sam’s abilities to him. So that he could be made a steward. You see people. And you told me some time ago that Varys must not be allowed to stay on my council. And you were right. I wanted to give him every chance. I won’t harm him. Not yet. He’s given me good counsel on occasion, and it’s to him I owe my life, in truth, because he got the antidote for me when I was poisoned. But his power is knowledge, and too often he wields it for his own ends. Too often he withholds it when it could have made a positive difference. I cannot trust him.”

Jon nodded. “I fear you’re right.”

Jon watched Daenerys the next morning, speaking again with the Essosi people, planning. She wanted her people’s councils here too, and she and the others were ironing out details. Tyrion had attempted to translate to him, but the man’s Valyrian was so bad that Jon found it easier to read clues from tone and expression than to make sense of what Tyrion told him.

At one point, however, it looked tense; one man had begun speaking to her, in his voice an attempt to persuade, but under that a naked plea, and for a moment, passing so quickly Jon was sure it was only himself to see it, Dany’s composure slipped; something hurting and longing in her, flashing across her face. Then she spoke again, all confidence. 

Jon glanced at Tyrion, but he too looked sad and almost afraid. 

“Volantis has elected her as a Triarch,” Varys’s voice murmured as he stepped closer to Jon. “All three cities have chosen her as the head of their councils. She was explaining that she must return to Westeros. They’re telling her they need her here, more than in Westeros.” 

Jon frowned. “Do you think she wants to stay?”

“I think she wants to be where she’s needed. And it cannot be denied that these cities have shown her far more love and appreciation than Westeros ever has. Regardless, she believes she’s going to die, and soon.” Jon’s eyes shot to Varys’ face, and he continued. “She can’t let them know. She wants to set up firm rulerships to ensure the cities are protected when she’s gone. But if it gets out that she’s dying before the Iron Bank makes the announcement, it could be detrimental.”

“If you let it out, I’ll kill you with my bare hands, and it won’t be fast, Varys.”

“You wound me, Your Grace. I know how much harm that would bring to innocents. I would never let the information out.”

Jon resumed watching Daenerys, and his stomach felt suddenly like lead. Not because she might stay; if Essos was her home, he would make it his own as well. But because of the reminder that she might have little time now to see to her work and it’s survival.

Jon knew his thoughts were selfish. Her death would be a tragedy for all these people here, it would be a tragedy for Westeros.

But all he could think about at that moment was his own anguish. How empty his life would be without her.

*********************

Daenerys was anxious as she approached Varys’ room. She had sent him a message that she needed to speak with him, and after a midday meal of roast lamb and plums, she knew she had to get it done.

“Welcome, Your Grace,” he said. “I hope I have not displeased you again.”

“Ned Stark tried to stop Robert Baratheon from killing me. He gave Robert’s Hand pin back to him.”

“Ned Stark was an honorable man,” Varys said cautiously. “And not so fearful of Robert as he should have been. I should have spoken in your defense as well, and I-“

“We’ve gone over your not speaking up for me. I forgave you. But you never told me that Ned Stark spoke up for me. Why?”

“I did not want to dwell on my own failing; I had told Robert information about you. I had my spy look on your doings. I sent a man to murder you. Its important for you to know, that Littlefinger and I convinced Robert not to hire a faceless man to kill you. We said it was the expense. If he’d hired a faceless man, you’d be dead. But I realize that means little now, and I was hesitant to remind you of my transgressions.”

“You realize that telling me would have made a huge difference in my feelings toward the North, which would have improved my relations with them,” she said. She was enraged, trying to keep the fury from spilling over.

“Your Grace, it’s as I’ve said, I serve the realm. I don’t-“

“The realm,” she spat. “You serve yourself. If you served the realm, you’d have told me. You didn’t trust me, and you knew of my dragons and armies. If I were to make war with the North out of an old grudge, how would that have served the realm?”

Varys frowned. “I didn’t think it would come to that.”

“It was a big risk you took with a lot of lives, just to avoid alluding to something I already knew about.”

“I apologize, Your Grace, but-“

“And when I told you about Jon’s parentage, you failed to mention that my father removed Rhaegar’s children from succession. Would another Dance of Dragons have served the realm? Or were you hoping to have another Targaryen waiting in the event I displeased you?”

“I doubted you would go to war.”

“So herein lies two situations where you counted on my mercy and my reason. Yet you did not warn me about Tyrion writing to his brother, and also intercepted my ravens when I tried to stop our armies from entering the capitol.”

“I was afraid you would harm Tyrion-“

“But you were not afraid I would harm Jon.”

“You love Jon.”

“I love Tyrion, too. Maybe not as I love Jon, but I do love him. Still, you kept the information from me.”

Varys sighed. “Your Grace-“ 

“I cannot trust you. You’ve shown this again and again. I have been a fool.”

Varys looked at her warily. “What will you do?”

“I’m hesitant to kill you, Lord Varys. It’s as I told Jon, you’ve given me good counsel on occasion, and you did save my life, or at least what extra time I have left, in procuring the antidote. If you’d not done that, I’d have died moons ago, and I’d have never secured the throne, and would have been unable to protect my people here. But I cannot have you close to me. I cannot trust how you will wield what information you have. You may always strive to have some designs against me, no matter what I do. You will stay here.”

“Here, Your Grace?”

“In Essos, I mean. You can go where you wish here, and in truth, it’s not as if I can stop you from returning to Westeros, so long as I don’t find out about it. But as to your claim you serve the realm...How can you serve it, without power? You want power as much as I do, and maybe even for the same reasons. You don’t want the throne in fact, perhaps. But you want it in principle. You want the power behind it, and you trust no one but yourself to serve and protect the people that throne rules over. I’ve spent all these moons trying to prove to you and to everyone else that I want what’s best for the realm, and all you’ve done is show me that the realm is second to your own desires. You’ll stay in Essos. You can send for your things.”

“If I may be so bold as to ask, you allowed Sansa Stark the opportunity to earn back her title, and certainly she wielded information much more damagingly than I have. If you would consider, perhaps in five years’ time, I may earn back my place on your council? I will keep you aware of what’s happening here.”

Daenerys frowned. I may not be alive in five years, she thought. 

“I will take your actions into consideration, and we may revisit this at that time.”

Varys nodded. He did not look particularly happy, but he didn’t look angry either. “Thank you, Your Grace. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I will be hoping fervently for your recovery, and for us to meet again.”

*************

Sansa could not say she was happy, but she was starting to become accustomed to Kings Landing; or at least she wasn’t terrified every moment.

She’d spent some time in the evenings, standing before the Iron Throne, and allowed the fear and grief and rage to wash over her. Allowed the memories to crash into her, but would not let them knock her down this time. 

She liked to come to the throne room during the day, too, and watch Lord Willas or Missandei-they all called her “Lady Missandei” now-as they addressed petitions. To reassure herself. To remind herself that the monsters who had sat the throne were gone, dead, rotting, and she still lived. 

She had moved from her lavish room to the women’s rooms in Maegor’s Holdfast, with the others who worked with the orphans. She wasn’t happy about that. 

This had been the direct result of a conversation with Lady Olenna, and she was a little angry about it, wondering if she’d been manipulated.

She had finished her work for the day and was going to find Arya. She was surprised when Jeyne and Mayla caught her two arms, each holding one, and they were giggling and giddy as they pulled her to a long line that started in Hayana’s office and ended in the hallway.

“What’s happening?” She asked.

“We get paid today,” Jeyne had told her excitedly.

“Paid?”

“Queen Daenerys thinks that we should all be paid, in addition to room, board and food,” Mayla said. “She said it in a speech when we all first got here. She thinks everyone should have time and means to pursue things they enjoy. She wanted to do it every week, but Hayana talked her into doing it monthly.”

Sansa frowned thoughtfully. That certainly sounded like something Daenerys would say. “And yet you don’t like her,” she finally said tartly. 

Mayla laughed. “You keep saying that. But that’s not true. We don’t even know her yet. Sure, we think she’s too good to be true, and we’re afraid she’ll die in Essos. But that doesn’t mean we don’t like her.”

“If we didn’t like her, we wouldn’t be worried whether she’ll die in Essos,” Jeyne pointed out. 

When Sansa reached the front of the line, Hayana handed her a small pouch and asked her to sign a book she had in front of her, which she did. 

Jeyne invited her to join her and some of the other girls to go out, but she declined, thanking them.

She had poured some of the bright silver coins into her hand, and was taken aback to see Margaery Tyrell’s face on them. Above her perfect profile, her name: Lady Margaery.

She had to own that, aside from the clenching in her heart to see the face of her lost friend, she felt a bit of smug delight that it was not Daenerys’ on the coins.

She had quickly discovered that her plan to win people over to Daenerys, to somehow make up for what she had done, was much less needed than she had thought.

She had called out the women she worked with, and found that the truth of the matter was much different from what she had first assumed. They did not dislike Daenerys, they were wary. And they often prayed to the Seven for her to return safely from Essos. 

Worse (better, she reminded herself), the people of Kings Landing, particularly the smallfolk, adored her. During the siege, they had kept scraps from the food packages, because they were stamped with her family sigil. To honor her. During their time at Dragonstone, they’d been fed and kept safe. Daenerys had apparently done with all of them what she’d done with the children. She’d met with them and asked them what they wanted to see in the city they would rebuild together. 

The first people who had been allowed to return were builders; and builders had been invited to come to Kings Landing to help as well. The benefit had been almost immediate. The smallfolk of the Seven Kingdoms had suffered horrifically during the war, so being given solid work-for which they were paid significantly-had been a great boon to them and their families. 

Sansa realized that she was not the only one to notice that the city was cleaner, the air fresher, nor was she alone to be aware who was responsible for the changes, and she felt stupid.

There really wasn’t anything she could offer to make up for what she had done. 

She had decided to ask Lord Willas about the coins, and she knew she had to be cautious. She couldn’t smirk or show satisfaction, or confess that, despite truly wanting to be of service to Daenerys, she couldn’t help it that she would have loved to see the queen’s face when she saw that it was not her own to grace the coins of her new kingdom. 

She was also curious how they’d come to the decision; even aside from any pettiness with regard to Daenerys, which she’d thought she’d gotten over, she was happy to see Margaery honored. Margaery had been one of the few to be kind to her in her scared, heartbroken, lonely days in Kings Landing. 

Lord Willas, however, was deeply engaged in some matter involving a dispute between two lords over a strip of land that separated their holdings, and both lords thought it was theirs.

Sansa was disappointed, but worse, she had come to the palatial section of the Keep where Daenerys and her closest and most trusted advisors slept...and where they entertained, unfortunately. She’d only come to ask Lord Willas about the coins; she was wearing her work attire and while it was comfortable, it was plain and sensible, quite obviously servants clothing. 

And she could hear as she walked through the hall, the laughter of the women who were Daenerys’s advisors.

Princess Arianne, Lady Missandei, Lady Sarella, the rest of the Sand Snakes, some of the Tyrell girls, ladies of other houses. They were talking and giggling, enjoying cake and wine and whatever other luxurious fare, and Sansa burned with humiliation at the thought anyone would see her thus. 

I would have been one of them, she thought. A lady, relaxing with cakes and wine, talking and giggling and planning.

But then I would not have met Alissa, she reminded herself. Still, she did not want the ladies in their beautiful finery to see her walking around in servant’s attire.

Missandei was offering to get more wine, and the other women were jumping up to assure her that she should relax, they would get it. 

Sansa rushed away from the archway where she’d stood, watching and listening, nursing her anger that she was not enjoying the afternoon with them, invited to their tea, and she ran into the nearest room, hoping to escape notice.

And as she turned around, she realized that Lady Olenna and Lady Ellaria were sitting together, also drinking wine, but speaking much more quietly. 

Lady Ellaria glared at Sansa, then turned back to Lady Olenna. 

“The building has already begun. I appreciate your thoughts, Lady Olenna. We can continue this another day.” She stood and left the room, her eyes cold as they passed over Sansa on her way out.

“Come in, child,” Lady Olenna said, waving her hand at a chair across from her. “I know you were raised better than to barge into a room without knocking, but we can let that go this time. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Sansa sat down. “I was afraid the ladies would see me.”

“The ladies?”

Sansa clarified, flushing as she explained, and shame knotting her chest at Lady Olenna’s critical gaze.

“I see,” Lady Olenna finally said. “If I remember correctly, you asked the queen to let you stay here to do your work.”

“I did, but-“

“I wonder if you understand how easy she went on you.”

She sighed. “Yes.”

“You could have gone back to Winterfell.”

Sansa nodded miserably. “I know.”

“And you still have all your fine dresses, still reside in the rather luxurious room the queen provided. You can’t possibly expect to earn back your title by getting what you want. But maybe you don’t really want the title anymore. Here, dear, have some cake, I know you love the lemon cakes. Did you know they’re the queen’s favorite too?”

“I don’t like them anymore. They remind me of a time that was...not good.”

“Oh. Well, there are plenty of other sweets here, and cheese too. Have some wine. If you’re hiding from the ladies, you’ll be here some time. They’ll spend the entire day there.”

“You don’t think I’ll earn back my title?” She asked in a small voice.

“It’s not up to me, child. But if it were, I can’t say I’d be ready to give it to you when it seems as if you aren’t truly working for it.” She plucked a large berry off the plate and ate it. At Sansa’s expression, she chuckled. “Oh, I know you think you’re working for it. But you’ve lost nothing concrete, have you?”

“I suppose not,” she acknowledged. “We got paid today. In silver. Margaery is on the coins.”

Lady Olenna smiled tenderly at that. “Yes. On the silver coins.”

“I was so happy to see her on them. Though I wonder what the queen will say, it not being her own face,” Sansa said carefully. 

“It was her idea,” Lady Olenna said.

“Her idea?”

“She said the people knew Margaery, loved her, and it will inspire hope to see her honored this way,” Lady Olenna clarified, and Sansa could see pride in her face. “But of course we put the queen’s own profile on the gold coins.”

“She told you to put her profile on the gold ones?”

Lady Olenna chuckled. “Well, she never told us we couldn’t. Besides, by now no doubt she’s seen the coins in the Bay of Dragons, and they’re all stamped with that pretty face of hers.”

“Are they? How do you know?”

“My dear, I don’t wish to be tasteless, but you know my family is quite wealthy. We see currency from everywhere. And it’s crucial for the Queen to be on the coins here. My Margaery...” Lady Olenna sighed. “She was good. And everyone loved her. It meant the world to us when Queen Daenerys suggested we honor her. And as you can well imagine, I want her remembered. But of course it’s also important for the people to see their queen’s face as well. Willas and I are thinking, if the queen approves, maybe every few years we can have some small number of coins go out with some greatly admired person. It will show our queen’s love and appreciation for her people, while having the regular coinage bear her own face.”

Sansa ate some of the sweets Lady Olenna offered, and thought about what she said. She and Lord Willas were all over Daenerys’ public relations, she thought dismally. There really was nothing Sansa could do there.

Another concern had eaten at her as well: If Daenerys didn’t return from Essos or survive the surgery, Lord Willas would be the King. And Sansa would never earn her title back, if she didn’t show she was working to do so.

After that, Sansa requested a room with the other women.

She was placed with Jeyne and Mayla. Sansa suspected it was because she knew them and Hayana wanted to ensure her safety.

Sansa felt queasy at first, remembering the last time she’d had a room in Maegor’s Holdfast, even wandering into her old room one afternoon while everyone was busy.

The memories had once again gripped her in the inexorable grasp of terror. She’d begun sweating, her heart pounding and nausea overtaking her. 

“They’re killing everyone!” Jeyne Poole’s voice screamed in her head.

The clash of swords outside, followed by the grunts and cries of men dying. 

The green light of flames, sweeping across the walls on the night of the Blackwater Battle. 

She thought suddenly of Sandor Clegane. 

How he’d hidden in her room that night, his last night in Kings Landing. She wondered how he was doing now, if he was well, if he liked the land she’d given him. 

She did not allow the tyranny of anguished memories break her this time. 

The work was still rewarding, especially as Alissa started to smile more, eat more, put on a little weight.

She took dinner in the Small Hall in the Tower of the Hand most nights, with Bran, Meera and Arya. Sometimes Lady Lyanna would join them. Arya preferred it, because it reminded her of father.

She left the Holdfast one evening after the children had eaten and she’d finished her work, but could not find Arya at the training yard. 

She knew that Arya would sometimes be at the dragonpit, so she decided to look for her there.

As soon as she got there, the cream and gold dragon hissed at her, and the green one landed in front of her, roaring. 

She was frozen in terror, and felt a hand clutch her arm and pull her back inside, then swing her around. And suddenly Arya’s angry little face was in front of her.

“Are you insane? Why would you go there? You’d have been cinders!”

“I thought you were supposed to be looking in on them.”

“Looking in on them. Not marching right up to them. Fuck, Sansa! Lord Tyrion rode one of them and wouldn’t be that stupid.”

They started walking toward the Small Hall.

“Didn’t he bond with the one he rode?” Sansa asked. 

“Viserion. Her name is Viserion. And I doubt it.”

Sansa was confronted by Missandei a few days later. 

Her beautiful face was concerned, and there was anger right behind the concern.

“The guards told me you tried to enter the dragonpit. Do not do that again.”

“I won’t,” Sansa said hastily. 

Missandei nodded and started to walk away, and Sansa followed her.

“Arya said that she doesn’t think Viserion bonded with Lord Tyrion,” she said.

“I imagine not,” Missandei said. “She knows him. She likes him. But I wouldn’t say they bonded.”

“I thought that dragons bonded with their rider. For life. One dragon, one rider, until one of them dies.” 

Missandei glanced at her. “I’m surprised you remember that. You didn’t strike me as being particularly interested in dragons. But I’m sure, that was how it was. In your old lore. But Queen Daenerys rode all three of them. Drogon got jealous the first time, because he’s the one she rode first. Their bond is strongest. But Sansa, you must remember, she’s bonded to all of them. She birthed them using magic and fed them at her own breast. Her connection to them is different from every other dragonrider in history. She’s not just their rider, she’s their mother.”

“Why did Viserion let Tyrion ride her then?”

“Because his mother asked her to,” Missandei said.

“What about Jon?”

“What about him?”

“Is he bonded to Rhaegal?”

“Daenerys said he was. I wouldn’t recommend him doing what you did, just marching into the pit, but he might fare better than you would, because they have a bond. Still, i imagine it’s not as strong as Daenerys’ bond to him. Probably not as strong as Jon’s bond with his direwolf Ghost. Rhaegal loves Jon. But Daenerys is his mother. Rhaegal bonded with Jon because Rhaegal’s mother loves Jon. His being a Targaryen made it possible, but it was the queen’s love for Jon that made it happen. If the queen hated him, no amount of Targaryen blood would have made Rhaegal accept Jon as a rider. I’ve been reading about Queen Daenerys’ ancestors and their dragons since I’ve been here. Dragons will kill a Targaryen if their rider is warring with them.”

“But Jon is her rider. The lore says-“

“As I said, Queen Daenerys rode all three of them. You won’t find lore about a relationship like the one she has with them. Because it’s unprecedented.”

Sansa sighed. “Everything about her is unprecedented,” she muttered, and then a cold feeling entered her stomach; Maybe she would sound disrespectful.

But Missandei smiled proudly. “Yes. That’s true.”

Sansa was sitting with Arya, Bran, Meera and Lady Lyanna, when she found out about some trouble that was happening; several Northern families were fighting amongst themselves. There was anger over land now that the wars were over. Anger over Sansa giving Deepwood Motte to Sandor Clegane. Anger over whether they would be independent or not.

“We need Jon to come home,” Sansa said. 

Bran gazed at her. “He won’t.”

“He won’t? He has to! He’s the king!” 

“You can try to convince him. Next meeting. But he won’t.”

**********************

After the evening meeting with Bran, he told Jon that there was some urgent Northern business to discuss with him. He told Daenerys she was welcome to stay, and Bran said it might be better if she did, but she thanked them both and left with everyone else.

Jon waited as the room emptied, to leave him alone with Bran and the glass candle. In the shadows behind Bran, Sansa stepped forward. She began to outline the fighting that had begun among the Northerners. 

“You have to come home, Jon. They need their king.”

“I can’t,” Jon said. 

“Of course you can! The war there is over!”

“Daenerys has a lot that needs to be worked out here before she can leave. And after that-“

“You’re the King in the North! Your presence is not required for her counsels there.”

“Sansa, I’m staying here. When she leaves here, she’s not going straight back to Kings Landing.”

“She has to! She’ll die!”

Jon winced. “She’s afraid she’ll die anyway. She wants to see Valyria-“

“Valyria?” Arya‘a voice piped up, and she stepped into the range of the candle’s view. “You’re going to Valyria? On Drogon?”

Jon grinned at her. “Jealous?”

“A little, yeah. Please be careful. There are stone men-“

“Jon, you can’t do this,” Sansa said. “Can’t she put it off?”

“She doesn’t know how much time she has. She can’t put it off.”

“Can’t someone else go with her?”

“I’m sure someone else could. But it’s not going to happen.”

“You are the king,” Sansa repeated. “It’s your duty to come when your people need you.”

“Then I abdicate,” Jon snapped. “If they’re stupid enough to fall back into fighting after all we’ve been through, years of war and more war, fighting the dead, over what? Over some land? Over independence? It’s a useless fight. Just causeless bloodshed...everyone agreed to a vote, and whether the North is independent or not makes no practical difference. If the North is independent, they’ve been given a loan; if not, they’ve been given aid. In a few years when they’re prosperous, they’ll be paying back the loan, or paying taxes. But it’s the same either way.”

“We don’t want to be dragged into southern wars,” Sansa argued.

“That sounds good in theory, but eighty percent of the Northern armies are currently on another continent, having helped the queen win a foreign war. So in practice it’s meaningless. If Dany goes to war, most of the armies will fight to defend her.”

“Jon, it will matter for the next generation. What if the next one, after Daenerys or Lord Willas, is not someone we wish to defend? They’re defending her voluntarily. But what if forty years from now-“

“Then present this to the North. Let them understand, and then vote on it, instead of fighting.”

“They need their ruler.”

“No, they don’t. They need to get their priorities in order. Winter has indeed come and it’s not the time for war. They don’t need a ruler to tell them that.”

“They do,” Sansa insisted.

“All right, Sansa. Maybe they do. It doesn’t matter. Even if the North needs a ruler, right away, to rush in and help them extricate their heads from their assholes. They’ll have to choose another. I’m not coming back yet. I want to see the house where she lived as a little girl. When she says home, she means that house. I want to see it. I want to imagine her as a little girl there. I want to see Valyria with her. The birthplace of our ancestors. I’m not in the Nights Watch anymore, I’m not Lord Commander, and if I have to choose, then I’m not the king anymore. I’m free.” 

Sansa looked pale, even in the shadowy view of the glass candle. “You don’t intend to come back to Winterfell at all. You’re going to marry her.”

Jon winced. “If she’ll have me.”

“And if she won’t?”

“I’ll join her Queensguard.”

“Then you would have to stop...” she broke off, flushing. “The Queensguard must be celibate.”

“The Queensguard can’t marry, father children, own land. The Nights Watch has the same vows. I can assure you, there are ways around it.”

“And what if she marries another?”

Jon felt a knotting in his stomach. “If she does, and I’m certain she is well protected, I will ask her to release me of my vows, so I can...not be there. Maybe I’ll travel. Maybe I’ll buy land. I don’t think that will happen. But if it does, I’ll figure it out then.”

“Jon...what will you do if she dies?”

“I don’t know.” He realized it was more than that. “The truth is, I don’t think I care. If she dies, I don’t think it’s going to matter to me where I am. Nothing will matter much to me at all”

Sansa sighed deeply. “At least name a Hand, to maintain order.”

“Ser Davos,” Jon said without hesitation.

“Ser Davos is there, too!”

“He can get back to Kings Landing as quickly as I would,” Jon said. 

Sansa was not happy, but she accepted it. He wished them a good night and Jon doused the candles, but right before he did, Sansa and Arya both called out good night as well, and he could hear affection in their voices. It made him smile to himself.

Then he left the room to find Daenerys.

*********************

Daenerys drank her honeyed wine, breathing deeply. The war was over. Again.

She could relax, at least for a time. Her people in the cities here wanted her to stay. She was honored, truly. They loved her. And how desperately she had wanted to be loved! 

But she knew how short her time was, she had to help them build something strong that would last, independent of her. 

She’d received some more gifts from Qarth and Yi Ti, along with messages assuring her that they’d sent far more ahead to Westeros. She’d asked Ser Jorah to make certain to give some of the goats wool to Sansa when she headed back North. It was incredibly soft and luxurious, and she would enjoy that in the icy cold climate. She’d asked him to give further gifts to Grey Worm and Missandei. They would never have to worry themselves about money.

She wondered though why they would send such gifts? In friendship, the messengers had said. 

An anxious knot was forming in her belly. Aside from the inexplicably extravagant gifts, she wondered what the Northern issues were that Sansa wanted to discuss with Jon. She had left the room, though she appreciated the invitation to stay. She did not want the North to name her queen without a free choice, and she was not going to intrude on their state affairs. 

A knock sounded at the door, and at her calling, Tyrion entered. 

He sat down, and she slid the wine jug over to him. He smiled and poured himself some.

“You remember I had told you I wanted to find someone here. Bran told me where she lives.”

“I remember.”

“And you remember I told you about my first wife.”

“Yes. Tysha.”

“It’s her. I want to find her. To tell her I’m sorry.”

Daenerys nodded, drinking her wine. If the story Tyrion had told her was the truth, Dany had her doubts Tysha would rush back into his arms, but stranger things had happened.

“You’ll bring guards,” she said.

“I will, if you are willing to spare them.”

“Of course.”

“I’m hoping to leave tomorrow,” he said.

She smiled at him, raising her glass in toast.

“Daenerys...I might not see you again.”

She nodded. “I hope everything is good for you, Tyrion. You’ve been a dear friend to me. I’ve left a will, you will have your vineyard. And perhaps a wife, too, before long. I wish you the very best in everything.”

“I think you’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” he said softly. “You were one of the few people in my entire life, who didn’t care about my height or my wealth or my family name. You named me your Hand on merit alone. You let me ride your dragon. It was the only time I was ever celebrated for my actions in battle. My brother was proud of me, truly proud of me. And I owe that to you. I love you.”

“I love you too, Tyrion.”

“I hope you make it back in time. But if you don’t, I will grieve for you until the day I die.”

“In your own bed, at the age of eighty, with a belly full of wine and a girl’s mouth around your cock,” she said, grinning at him.

He laughed, drinking, but he was blinking rapidly, as if he might cry in another minute.

“Please try, Daenerys. I know you want to see these things. I understand. But please, please try to make it back in time. I know that I and everyone else will do all in our power to make sure the things you want will come to pass. But we love you.” His voice broke on the last word, and she reached across the table, taking his hand.

“I will, Tyrion. I promise. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For...for not wanting me to die.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “I am so sorry for all that happened in that vision.”

“So am I,” she said. 

They drank in silence for a few minutes. Then as the wine started to seep it’s warmth into her, she started to sing, and Tyrion joined her immediately. 

Then he told her some jokes he’d heard in Essos, butchering some of them because of his trouble with Valyrian, making her laugh harder. 

He left some time later, and before he did, Daenerys reached over and hugged him, tightly. 

Jon knocked a few minutes later, and she smiled. She knew his knock, she mused. 

He’s beautiful, she thought as he entered, his eyes somber, like smoke against a winter sky. 

“Is everything all right?” She asked.

He nodded, smiling. “Everything is fine.”

She frowned, concerned. “All right,” she said cautiously, as he sat down beside her. 

“The North is fighting with itself now. It will pass.”

“Fighting with itself?”

He chuckled, moving his chair behind her and reaching to rub her shoulders. “Northerners are stubborn.”

“That’s been established.”

“When they disagree, they get a little rough with each other. The best thing for them is to get out of Kings Landing, go back North and remember what they’ve been fighting for. Their homes. Their families.”

Daenerys felt an ache in her chest, spreading. She drank her wine down, pouring more. 

“You’ll need to go back,” she said, refusing to allow the hurt into her voice. She would not be angry, she ordered herself. 

“I’m not going back.”

“You’re their king. You have to-“

“You sound like Sansa.”

Daenerys gasped in feigned offense. “Sansa?” She asked, laughing. 

“She said the same thing. I abdicated.”

“You...what?” Now she turned to him.

“I’m going with you to your childhood house. I’m going with you to Valyria. I’m going back to Kings Landing with you and I’m staying with you as long as you’ll let me. I named Ser Davos my Hand. He’ll keep order until they choose their new warden or king or whatever they decide.”

“But what about-“

“Dany, I’m sorry to interrupt you, but whatever concern you’re going to try to bring up to change my mind, isn’t going to change it. Unless you don’t want me to come with you.”

“You know I do.”

“Good. Then we agree.”

He leaned over and kissed her, and they made their way to the bed.


	42. Chapter Forty Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all as always for your amazing and inspiring comments and kudos and for reading this! :-)
> 
> ReganX, thank you so much for your insightful analysis of Jon and his thoughts!
> 
> This chapter plans and conversations happen. Sansa overhears a conversation. CW for violence near the end. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! :-)

Chapter Forty Two

Dawn was breaking across the sky, sending light streaming over the rumpled bedsheets. Daenerys watched Jon sleeping, his voluptuous mouth relaxed, his body, it’s taut hard lines, in repose. She smiled as she remembered the night before, delicious thoughts filling her mind.

His eyes opened as if he’d felt her gaze, and he smiled, his eyes like smoke behind tangled lashes.

“Good morning,” he said, his gruff Northern burr like an elixir to her.

“Good morning to you,” she said. 

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

“I have to talk to you,” she said. 

“Go on.”

“I don’t think you should abdicate. You-“

“It’s done, Dany.”

“It’s not done! You’ve made no formal announcement. Ser Davos will keep your peace while we’re away. You’re a good ruler, Jon-“

“I’m not,” he argued.

“You are; you’re fair and just and you care for your people. But more importantly, you’re a good leader. What you did for Sam. Think about it. How you protected him and also how you found a place for him on the Wall that would take his talents and good attributes, and make the best use of them. And then, you were alone to know that moving the Free Folk south of the Wall would be the most effective way to keep the Night King’s army from getting bigger while keeping the army of the living from being depleted. You were alone to make the decision to come to me for my armies and the dragonglass.”

“Sam told me about the dragonglass.”

“But you made the choice to come and ask for it. I know your people were against it. You have the courage to make decisions that are not popular. And you are able to look at people and see their value.”

“Why are you trying to talk me into this? I am coming with you-“

“Do you really need to abdicate to do that?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But I do need to abdicate if I’m not going to live back North, and I’m not.”

“You might change your mind about that. After...everything.”

“I won’t. I may visit and even spend time there. But you must know I can’t live there again, even if...” he didn’t finish, just gave a little shudder. “I made a promise to you. I told you I’d look out for your children. You said that my bond with Rhaegal, and in turn, his bond with his brothers, might help me protect them. You didn’t want them to be hunted.” She winced, and he cupped her face with one hand, tenderly. “There are three now, and before long there will be nine. How do you think the young ones would like the North? I don’t think they will. I can’t bring them there. Not while they’re young, and certainly not to live there. If you survive, I intend to stay by your side as long as you’ll have me. But if you don’t...I’m not going to want to do anything, really. But I will protect your children. I can’t do that in the North. There are any number of people who might rule the North, and rule it well. How many people can protect your dragons if you’re gone?”

“I don’t want to take something from you that you earned. You said yourself it was the greatest honor of your life.”

“That was before you entrusted me with protecting your children.”

She sighed. It hurt her to cost him his Northern crown, and she almost found a bitter humor in it, considering how she’d wanted it in her vision. 

But he made a valid point. With her gone, Jon was the only person who could protect her children. If they were left alone in the world, people would fear them, try to hunt them, to harm them. So long as even one of them had a rider, the rest had a chance. Jon was the only one, other than herself, to have a true bond with a dragon. And maybe he would have children, and then the others would have riders as well. 

The thought of Jon with another woman, a wife, made her heart hurt, but knowing he would guard her children set it at ease. And she wanted him to be happy, even if the thought scraped her raw.

“I don’t know how to thank you...to make it up to you. What you’re giving up, to ensure my children’s safety.”

“I never wanted to be king.”

“No? Are you sure? Or did you never allow yourself to want it? To believe you deserved it?”

He looked at her, surprised. “Aye, you make a point. I never let myself want it. To even think about it. I was a bastard. When I was a boy, I wanted nothing more than to have my father ask Robert to legitimize me. I’d daydream about it.”

“And if he had, you may have been given lands to rule over.”

“Maybe. But being a ward to dragons was beyond my wildest dreams. You revived an entire extinct species. And you’ve chosen me to guard them if something happens to you. It’s a greater honor than any crown could ever be, you must know that.”

“What land would you want? If it’s not already occupied, I’ll will it to you. And Dragonstone will be yours.”

He winced. “I don’t really want to sit here thinking of what I’ll be doing when you...when you’re gone.”

“I understand that. I do. But we must speak of it.”

Jon sighed. “Dragonstone is more than enough.”

“It isn’t. Not really. You need fertile land to grow crops. You need-“

“Dany. Please. Stop. This conversation hurts.”

She sighed, and got out of bed, starting to dress. 

“Now you’re angry,” he said.

“I’m not angry.”

“You are. I can see it.”

“I hate how much you undervalue yourself,” she admitted, her voice low. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

“How is that? It can’t be much better than how I see myself, having put a knife in you.”

She winced again. He was right, this was a painful conversation. “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about everything else. I’m talking about about all you did to gather people together to fight the Night King. If you hadn’t done that, all of us would be dead. I know that night with Tormund I was angry, but it’s true that it took a lot of courage for you to climb on my dragon.”

“Not anywhere near what you-“

“It’s not a contest, Jon. People are drawn to you-“

“People are drawn to you too.”

“We aren’t talking about me right now. I’m not comparing us. People lean into you, and not just because of that beautiful face. You are strong, you’re courageous, you’re honorable. You have integrity. You’ve always put your people first. You’re good, all the way down. You stand up for things, important things, and you don’t let bitterness consume you, no matter how bad things are. I don’t know how to...to make you understand how truly amazing you are.”

He was sitting up in bed, staring at her now, his hair tousled. He was just so beautiful, and she wanted to get back into bed with him and spend the entire day there.

Soon, she reminded herself. Once she’d ensured the well being of her cities, and the Iron Bank made their declaration, she could spend the rest of the time left to her, in his arms and in his bed. 

“I feel the same way about you,” he said softly. “I wish I could make you see your own greatness. You get angry that others use a different measure to judge your actions than everyone else’s. And you’re right to be angry. But you do it to yourself. You’re harder on yourself than you are on anyone else.”

“It’s hard not to be, when I have a clear and terrible memory of burning a city.” 

He was up now, his arms around her. “You were poisoned. You were grief stricken. And it never happened now. You have to forgive yourself.”

“I don’t, actually. But it doesn’t matter. We’ve gone far off topic. I wanted to talk about you abdicating.”

He sighed, then leaned back, looking into her face, a crooked smile forming. “Did you stay up all night thinking about that?”

She laughed. “Not all night. All morning, though.” 

He kissed her forehead. “I can’t live in the North anymore. I’ll visit. But I can’t be there and even if I could, I don’t want to. I want to be with you, Dany. And if you don’t make it, I want to keep my promise to you. I love you. I betrayed you in every way, in that vision. I’m sick every time I think about it. I know you can’t believe me. I don’t blame you. I hung the men who stabbed me. To expect you to trust me is...just wrong of me. I was wrong to expect that of you. I hope I can earn your trust back one day. But even if I can’t, I want to be with you as long as you’ll let me. No crown or throne or...or anything, anywhere...is as important.”

Dany rested her head on his shoulder, taking comfort in his impassioned words. He would protect her children, she knew. He would keep his vow. She had to believe that, despite all the vows he’d broken to her in that other life.

************

The morning meeting with Bran and the council was smooth; by now the rest of the officers were aware that Dany’s newly won cities wanted her to stay, and they began making arguments to her for why they needed her in Westeros.

Jon watched her speaking with them. He found it fascinating to see her speak to them in the Common Tongue, then speak in Valyrian to the Essosi council, then speak in Dothraki to her Khalasar, without any hesitation between shifting languages.

She had received extravagant gifts and a promise that more were on the way to Kings Landing. Jon saw she was grateful but wary, and he had to admit he had suspicions about it too. 

An emissary from Yi Ti had begun speaking with her, and she spoke with him as well.

“Missandei taught you how to speak Yi Tish?” Jon asked later.

Daenerys grinned. “She’s been teaching me. I’m not quite fluent yet.”

“You sounded pretty fluent. Did he explain why they were giving you such lavish gifts?”

She frowned. “He said it was a gesture of friendship. The same as the Qartheen gifts.”

“What do you think they want?”

“I don’t know. I can imagine Qarth’s motives. They denounced me quite fiercely when I fell into conflict with the warlocks. They have slaves. They may expect war, and are trying to avoid it by giving me gifts. Strange, because the warlocks also sent someone to murder me years ago. Even stranger, the Masters at Yunkai gave me gifts to persuade me not to attack them all those years ago, but I warned them to release their slaves and pay them reparations. They refused, and so I attacked them.” She smiled faintly. “Razdal mo Eraz said I’d find no easy conquest at Yunkai.”

“Was it easy?”

“I couldn’t say how easy it was. I had no fighting skills and my dragons were young. I wasn’t there. Jorah, Grey Worm and Daario snuck in and fought their guards, then opened the gate to my army.”

Jon smiled. “And what became of this Razdal mo Eraz?”

“I let him live after we took Yunkai. I let him live when he was supporting the Sons of the Harpy, but in all fairness I wasn’t there. Tyrion made a pact with him and the others. They broke the pact. Grey Worm killed him.”

Jon nodded. “So it seems strange they would send gifts, if they know you will go to war should you see cause, regardless of what they give you.”

“Exactly. I appreciate their gifts. I have too many plans, and they’re expensive. I need to have the same learning centers here, like the one I’m planning for Kings Landing. I need my people to be free. They may not be slaves, but they are still vulnerable to the chains of hunger. Of poverty. Of other types of oppression. I want them to have choices in their life, of what kind of work they want to do. That starts with education. I have to see to it that formerly enslaved people are given reparations for their years in servitude. I must set up some temporary relief, through lower taxes and gifts, for merchants who will have to deal with higher prices once slavery is truly finished. There are so many things that still need to be done. These gifts will help achieve that. But I need to know what they want.”

“Maybe Bran can tell you.”

Daenerys nodded. “If he’s willing. It seems I should be offering him a place on my council. He may not want it, but he’s certainly earned it many times over.”

“I think he’d like that. He told us he’s not returning to Winterfell any time soon. I suspect he’s going to marry Meera Reed. They were both happy you planted a weirwood in the Red Keep’s Godswood.”

“Good. I’d like to offer him something more, but it’s difficult to imagine something he’d want.”

Jon reached for her, held her. She leaned against him and he mused that she felt perfect in his arms, as if she was born to be his.

Or maybe I was born to be hers, he thought.

That night they met again with Bran, who agreed to look into the motives behind the massive gifts. Jon and he decided they would meet again in the morning to discuss details of the North. 

Daenerys was planning to go talk to the people in Astapor, and since she would prefer to remain outside of Northern affairs, she would go in the morning while they spoke.

“You’ve been immeasurably helpful in this campaign, Bran. I don’t know how to thank you. If you would be willing, I’d love to have you on my council.”

Bran smiled then. 

“You don’t have to answer now,” Dany went on, “you can think about-“

“I would be honored,” he told her.

*****************

Sansa could see that Bran looked happy, and it had been so long since she saw any true emotion on his face. She was happy for him, she truly was.

She studied the shadowy faces at the other side of the glass candle; Bran didn’t need a glass candle to see them, but Meera often sat with him for these councils, and he’d asked Lady Sarella if she had an extra one. Meera had not complained about his talking to what seemed to be nothing to her; but Bran didn’t want her to feel excluded. 

Sansa was happy about that, too; of course it was good for Meera and herself as well; but the fact that Bran was considering her feelings was a good sign. 

Sansa remembered well her thoughtful and kind little brother, and had been so full of joy to see him return to Winterfell. But she quickly saw that this power had robbed him of something, something important. Something human. And it seemed he was slowly starting to get it back.

It was early in the day, though nighttime in Essos. And tonight they would meet with Jon to give him any new information about the North. 

Sansa had chosen today for her day of rest so she could sit in on the discussion with the Northerners. Even with no title, she was still one of them and wanted to hear what they had to say. 

She had been annoyed at first when she’d been told she had to take a day of rest, but after speaking with the other women she realized it was a gift to them. Her own annoyance had stemmed from her fears, her restlessness, but more, she saw now, it was that for her, this was a temporary situation; something she was doing to make up for her crime. She was invested because she cared for the orphans, of course, but mostly because of her attachment to Alissa. 

For the other women, though, this was their life. Having two days to rest each week, having silver of their own in their pocket, being certain of a warm bed and food...they felt wealthy. And these were things Sansa had taken for granted. Even in the worst of times, she’d never had to worry about food or shelter.

Sansa had decided to try living entirely on the silver from her pay. Right away she knew that if Daenerys hadn’t provided the food and shelter, this would be impossible. She wondered what the smallfolk of Kings Landing had done to survive before. 

She suspected many women became whores, but she didn’t know how to bring that subject up to the women she worked with now.

But another thing she’d found out, was that Lady Ellaria was quite passionate about the whores; she felt that they were at the mercy of the brothel owners, she felt too many were forced into the profession, she felt that they had not received nearly enough protection. 

Sansa had learned this information by asking Bran about the conversation she’d walked in on between Lady Ellaria and Lady Olenna. 

Lady Ellaria was building a brothel. When she and Prince Oberyn had travelled together they had often enjoyed the company of whores-courtesans, she called them-and she was fiercely determined to have an establishment where they might be protected. Where they might be given the time to attend sessions at Daenerys’ learning centers so that if they wished to leave the profession one day and do something different, they would have the freedom to do so. She had latched onto Daenerys’ passion about these matters and decided that this would be her contribution to it. 

Sansa was fascinated by Ellaria’s fierce defense of these women and men, her unique stance that demanded respect for them. And she was not the least surprised by Daenerys’ enthusiasm and agreement with the idea. 

Sansa was questioning her own thoughts about it. She’d never hated the people in that profession, but she’d certainly never respected them. Bran’s telling her of the conversations between Lady Ellaria with Lady Olenna and Daenerys as well, made her wonder if she herself had been a terrible snob. About everything. 

“I hope you understand, Sansa, that I won’t always be able to answer your questions,” Bran told her once the candles were out, snapping her back to the moment.

“What questions?”

“About what Daenerys and her council discuss. This matter with the brothels we discussed, it’s hardly a secret. Daenerys was set on having all her people safe and happy, and she’s never looked down on sex workers. Ellaria has taken this on as her personal crusade, to build pleasure houses that provide opportunities and wealth for the workers. To work with Willas and Sarella to fashion laws to protect them. It’s not information that needs to be protected. But there may be information that does need to be protected. Matters for Daenerys and her council alone. You know I cannot share that information with you.”

Sansa sighed. “I understand,” she said reluctantly. She was a little angry. Bran was her family, not Daenerys’. She changed the subject, moving the conversation to the coins, telling him what she’d learned. “Lady Olenna said that every few years some coins will be made to honor someone else. Daenerys wanted Margaery on all the coins, and Lady Olenna is happy about it but thinks the main currency should have Daenerys on them. And now she’ll be on them here, and apparently in her Essosi cities, too.” She tried not to roll her eyes. “I wonder who will be next on the coins.”

“Elia Martell,” Bran said without hesitation. “Daenerys is very angry about what happened to her. She tries to be understanding of her brother Rhaegar and our Aunt Lyanna, because of Jon. For his sake. But she’s angry. We spoke about it recently. I was telling her that Aunt Lyanna did try to send letters to her family. But they were intercepted. And-“

“Why would you tell this to Daenerys instead of Jon?” She demanded. “They were his parents.”

“I knew she would tell Jon. And she has a gentler way of telling things than I do. I thought it would be better for him to hear it from her. And anyway, Daenerys deserved to hear it first.”

“Why did she deserve to hear it first?” Sansa could not keep the outrage out of her voice now.

“Sansa, whatever their intentions, what Rhaegar Targaryen and Aunt Lyanna did, victimized a lot of people. Of those who were harmed the most, with the greatest innocence, Daenerys is the last one alive.”

“How was Daenerys victimized?”

“She was sent into exile. Lost her entire family except a brother who was a child himself. Lived on the streets hiding from assassins. Because her brother and our aunt decided to do what they did. Rhaegar knew it could start a war. Even if things had gone as he planned, he was challenging the Faith Militant. They would never have approved a second marriage, and nor would the followers of the old gods. If he pressed the matter, it would have led to conflict. If he didn’t, Aunt Lyanna would be sent back to Winterfell with a bastard babe, either disgraced as an adulteress or a fool. There was no way this could not have led to violence. It was very selfish of both of them. Aunt Lyanna even gave Jon the same name as Elia’s son. Daenerys intends to honor Elia, and she will no doubt be the next one on the coins.”

Sansa nodded, resigned. “You’re probably right.” She stood. “We should go speak with the Northern lords.”

“I’m not sure if I should even be there. I’m going to stay here in Kings Landing. Meera and I discussed it before Daenerys even asked me to join her council. Eventually Meera will have to go back to Greywater Watch. Even if it’s only to choose a castellan to hold it. But we’re staying here for the next few years.”

“Meera is the heir to Greywater Watch. You’re a Northerner. You should both be there.”

The Northern council was fraught with arguing, and Sansa had no authority anymore to make them listen to her.

The subjects of the debate depressed her.

She had to tell them that Jon was sending his Hand to help deal with the conflict, and thought it might not be wise just yet to tell them he’d abdicated the crown they’d given him, so he could traipse all over Essos and Valyria with his queen.

They would refuse Ser Davos’ authority then, and there would be chaos. Sansa wished once again that she hadn’t handled relations with Daenerys quite so badly. 

Chaos is a ladder, Lord Baelish had said. If Sansa still had her title and the respect of the lords, she easily could have been named queen, or at least wardeness.

And independence was looking less and less like a possibility. Even with the food and supplies Daenerys had sent North, the cold was becoming brutal. The knowledge that once again Daenerys’ actions were the crucial thing standing between the North and death, along with the fear and cold and hunger that had happened before those supplies had been delivered, had made the people suddenly remember Aegon the Fifth. How he had provided aid to save the starving Northerners from death, and how angry southern lords were, that so much aid had been given. 

How much angrier would they be, if Daenerys provided them with too much, and they were an independent kingdom. 

“The North almost starved that winter, and that was with the glass gardens of Winterfell still standing,” Lord Manderly said. “Now the glass gardens are gone.”

“Queen Daenerys is having them rebuilt,” Sansa assured him, more to comfort him than to convince him not to vote in favor of independence. In fact, she suspected this might push them further into swearing fealty to Daenerys. 

One of the few threads holding independence together as something valuable, was the respect Jon had earned from them. If they knew Jon abdicated, they might either swear fealty to Daenerys or descend into squabbles among themselves.

Another issue was that of the smallfolk. Sansa remembered her annoyance that they had sought Daenerys’ counsel and asked far too many political questions of her for Sansa’s taste. 

Now they had voted for fealty twice, and Sansa knew that many of them had moved south, most in Kings Landing, because of work. 

The capitol had always offered much more work compared to the other kingdoms and cities. But now with rebuilding, with massive farming endeavors within sprawling glass gardens, Kings Landing had become a much more desirable place to live. 

Sansa could not even blame them. 

They went over the same points, and Sansa stated what Jon had pointed out to her: that it made not much of a difference truly. But, she added, for the next generation it might. 

She left after the meeting, with nothing decided. She asked Hayana to let her take Alissa out for awhile. Podrick joined them, and they stopped to buy some food, then sat at the gardens where the Sept had been.

“My father died here, too,” Sansa said softly.

Alissa’s eyes were wide. “I thought he was executed.”

“He was. On the steps of the Sept.”

“Maybe the queen will put his name there on the plaque,” she said.

“She probably would if we asked her. But the plaque is to remember people who died in the explosion.”

Alissa nodded thoughtfully. “I liked her. Queen Daenerys.”

Sansa smiled faintly. “That seems to be the consensus.”

Alissa was watching her, eyes wide with trust, and Sansa almost hurt with gratitude, knowing how that trust had been hard won. “Do you think she’s a good queen?” Alissa asked.

Today’s children are tomorrow’s kingdom, Daenerys had told her.

Sansa sighed deeply. “I do. I was suspicious of her at first. But like you, it’s hard for me to trust anyone. Now I know her better, and I think I really misjudged her.”

“Do you think she’ll ever let you have your title back?”

“I don’t know. I hope so. But I...what I did, I wasn’t thinking of it at the time, but it endangered her. She already has people trying to kill her. She doesn’t need more of that.”

“Why would anyone want to hurt her?”

“Well...they have slavery in Essos. She is fighting it. The people who were making money off of it were angry.”

“They shouldn’t be making money by having slaves, then,” Alissa said definitively.

Sansa laughed. “You’re right about that. She will give me back my title but I have to earn it back.”

“I suppose that’s fair. You won’t leave us, though. Will you?”

Sansa’s heart leapt at the affection in the girl’s face. “I’m not going anywhere for awhile.”

“Good,” Alissa said. “I like you.”

“I like you too, Alissa.”

Sansa could see Podrick smiling at her, and she flushed. 

They walked back to Maegor’s Holdfast as the sun was starting to set, stopping to buy some honey cakes for Alissa and the other children.

After they’d dropped her off, Podrick smiled shyly at Sansa. 

“Do you want to go get supper together?”

Sansa nodded, smiling back. “That would be lovely.”

They walked for a bit, Sansa not wanting the highborns to see her in her servant’s attire, and nor did she want to make Podrick wait while she changed into finery.

They found a small tavern near the Bay, where most of the patrons were merchants.

She ate the stew and cheese and bread Podrick brought, wondering if this stew was the bowl of brown she’d heard so much about. 

“Oh, it isn’t,” Podrick assured her, laughing. “This is much better.”

“You’ve had it?”

“A couple of times. When you’re truly hungry, it’s the best thing you can get, but it’s awful stuff. No one even knew what the meat was, most of the time.”

“Ew,” she said, laughing as well.

Podrick rose to bring the empty bowls and plates back and bring them more ale, and Sansa smiled to herself. 

She remembered her father, all those years ago. 

“Someone brave and gentle and strong...”

She remembered her own response and wanted to reach back and shake herself. If she hadn’t done what she did, perhaps Father would still be alive. They’d have gone home. Maybe then Mother and Robb, too would be alive. She thought about that day she’d stupidly gone to Cersei...and then how she was going to expose her actions before the Northerners before Daenerys stopped her. She shook her head, to clear it.

She didn’t want to think about that. She lifted her hands to the whimple she wore to cover her hair, wondering if she would be recognized if she took it off.

Two men sat down at a table near her, arguing.

“I just wish you never told me. It’s better I didn’t know. If you get caught, they’ll execute you. And my sister will be a widow. And the children...”

“If I didn’t do something, your sister, and my children, might starve. You would know if you were a merchant. Did you forget what happened the last time?”

“The costs went up. I remember. Can’t be worse than what will happen if they find out. This is worse than treason. It’s regicide. That’s execution, no Wall, no-“

“If you could speak a little louder, maybe you can get me killed yourself,” the man snapped.

Sansa was frozen, listening. Podrick returned with their ale, and she took hers and drank. “Speak softly,” she warned him in a whisper, then returned her attention to the men’s conversation.

“...already won them back, and once the Iron Bank makes the announcement, that’s it. It’s over. And then prices on imports will be too high to manage.”

“So you have to have her murdered? You don’t think there’s some other way to-“

“There isn’t.”

“Did you hire faceless men?”

“If I could afford faceless men, I wouldn’t have to do it at all, would I? They cost the world for the killing of a commoner. To kill a queen would be far too much, and anyway, they’re Braavosi. You know how they are about slavery. They might not do it at any price now.”

“Then you’re committing suicide. Do you know how many people have tried to kill her? Did you hear what happened at her coronation feast? It’s quite difficult to kill her.”

“This is different. They’ll never know who was responsible, they’ll be thinking to look out for slavers. Not us. And those people over there worship her. She walks right up to them. She’ll never expect it and nor will her guards.”

“When is it happening?”

“It has to be before the Iron Bank makes the announcement. Tomorrow...well, I guess today. In a few hours. It will be morning over there.”

“I don’t know, I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

“It will be fine. She’s dying anyway, if the stories are to be believed. Better it happen before the Iron Bank says anything.”

Sansa stood slowly, and started to walk out of the tavern, followed by Podrick. 

As soon as they stepped outside and away from the two men, she started running. Podrick ran with her, and they rushed through the streets toward the Red Keep to get to Bran. 

*****************

Jon could see that Daenerys had woke up in pain this morning. She covered it well enough; smiling tightly at him and reaching for the little bottle of Qyburn’s medicine, drinking a little more than the day before. 

He kissed her forehead and left to get food, so they could break their fast together in her room.

When he returned, she was sitting up in bed, holding her mother’s crown, running her fingers over it, and her expression was soft, full of joy. She turned to him, smiling as he approached her.

“It’s funny how looking at something you haven’t seen in so long, can bring back so many memories,” she said.

Jon laid the food before her, and his chest hurt suddenly. 

He knew what she meant. He’d felt it when he returned to Winterfell. The smell of it, the quality of light, that had sent him back to his childhood. And it hurt now to think he had his home, his boyhood rooms, so many things to remind him of a youth that he had at the time thought painful and difficult. A bastard, yes, but beloved by most of his siblings and by the man he’d thought to be his father. He’d been given an education, he’d never wanted for food and shelter, he’d been taught by the master at arms. 

And Daenerys had only this, her mother’s crown, a family treasure her brother had had to sell, to hold and remember. He was thinking of the little girl she had been, scared and hungry and alone save for a brother who was a child himself. 

She laid the crown back into its box tenderly, and started eating the food he’d brought. 

“Thank you for this,” she said, washing down the first few bites with the wine, waiting a moment to see if she would be consumed again with the nausea that often sent her running from a room. When she felt assured, she continued eating. 

“I thought it was bad,” Jon said. “My childhood. Or...at least not good. The life of a bastard. I thought it was not a good life for a child,” he said softly.

“I imagine it must have hurt, to feel like you were less than your siblings,” she responded, her voice sympathetic. 

“Aye, it did. Lady Stark hated me. Everyone looked down on me. The bastard of Winterfell. They thought I would try to steal Robb’s birthright. When they would have feasts, I wasn’t allowed to sit with my family. I was their shame. It would insult the other lords and their children to be seated near me.” Jon spoke softly. Daenerys’ face was etched in such affection and compassion, he wanted to slap his own face. “Dany, I was stupid. I was so fucking stupid.”

“Stupid?” 

“I didn’t even think...what you must have gone through.”

“You were a child. You didn’t even know me.”

“Even later. I thought of my own pain, and disregarded yours.”

She sighed. “Jon, pain tends to feel objective and absolute when we’re experiencing it. And of course to an extent, it is. But it’s also relative. You were a child, you were looking at your siblings’ position.”

“And you were hungry, sleeping in the streets.”

“Yes. And I was heartbroken when I had to leave the house with the red door. But then look at Varys. I’m angry with him, but there’s no denying things were worse for him. Cut like that and left to die. And then when you start to think his was the worst, there’s Grey Worm. We can sit and muse about it, but no pain is objectively the worst...oh, I suppose someone somewhere has the very worst. But that doesn’t diminish what anyone else went through.”

“Your childhood was objectively harder than mine.”

“Be that as it may, yours was still hurtful. It’s not a contest,” she repeated what she’d told him the morning before.

“I used my pain as an excuse. To myself. So deeply, so much so, I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I told the Northerners that their naming me their king was the greatest honor of my life.”

“I remember.”

“I told them I had a choice. To keep my crown or save the North. That I chose the North.”

“I remember that, too,” she said. Anger flashed in her eyes, and she took a deep drink from her wine goblet.

“But that wasn’t true,” Jon went on. “You said you would help before I bent the knee to you. If I’d truly given up my crown to save the North, I’d have bent the knee that day in the cave. Then Viserion would have lived. My stupidity cost you his life, and then instead of telling the North what you did for me, what you sacrificed, I told them I bent the knee to save them. It was a lie. A cowardly lie.”

“I’m aware of that,” Daenerys said. “And we went over it. Are you trying to make me angry?”

“I’m trying to acknowledge what I did. Among many other things. I...I can’t even wrap my head around my own cowardice. My dishonor. I can never excuse or justify it. But maybe if I could...explain it to you...”

“It doesn’t matter. None of it happened now.”

“It does matter. You can’t trust me. And the more I think about what happened, the more I see you’re right not to trust me. I’ve been so focused on how I can win back your trust. But the truth is, I don’t deserve your trust. I was so fucking weak. The North...I always wanted their respect. When they named me their king, I was honored. But I was scared, too. I was afraid I wouldn’t deserve it. It’s just as you said yesterday. I never felt good enough. And when they reacted as they did to my bending the knee, I was so afraid of losing their respect. I felt like I failed them. So I failed you. I lied to them. After telling you they’d see you for what you are, I made that impossible.”

Daenerys was studying him. “I was there, Jon. I know what happened. We’ve fought about it. I don’t see what good can come of revisiting it.”

“Nothing, really. Except I need to acknowledge how wrong it was. How weak and dishonest and craven it was. Pathetic, to care so much about what they thought. I could think of reasons why...never feeling good enough. Feeling the shame of being a bastard. Thinking they’d overestimated me. Wanting to make my father proud. Being afraid of disappointing them. Ashamed that I didn’t bend the knee to save the North in the first place. And always, the shadow of my brother. He lost his crown and his kingdom because he fell in love. I didn’t want them to think it was that. Sansa asked me...if it was to save the North, or because I loved you. And I feared that if they believed I’d bent the knee because I loved you, they would abandon me, and we would fall to the Night King. Or...the last time I commanded something so unpopular, my men murdered me. I was afraid...not so much of being murdered, but the betrayal. It hurt so much. And then I did it to you. I should have told them the truth. I can swear by the old gods and the new, that it will never happen again, but it’s like you said, it doesn’t mean anything. I can’t prove it. Captain Naharis told me that I am a weakness to you. I don’t add to your strength, I lean into it. I’m sorry, Dany. I’m so sorry. That’s all I can even say now. I know I was wrong and I’m sorry.”

“Did you bend the knee because you loved me?”

“No. I bent the knee because you showed beyond all shadow of a doubt that you were everything a ruler should be. Strong and fierce and compassionate and just and willing to make sacrifices. I loved you, but not enough-not the way you deserve to be loved.”

“And how is it I deserve to be loved?”

“Without reservation. I don’t think falling in love is ever really unconditional. But when I told you that they would come to see you for what you are, I should have helped them see. Instead, my insecurities and fears took over and all I did was make it worse, and confirm their suspicions, because I lied to them. You deserve loyalty. And I wasn’t loyal. Not to you, not to myself. Not to our love. I was so used to sacrificing what I wanted, what I loved. I had no right to sacrifice you, and that’s what I did. I betrayed you, and I betrayed the truth. For ungrateful fools. You deserved better.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it’s like I said, I need to acknowledge it. To tell you I was wrong. That I know I was wrong. To tell you I should never have allowed myself to take so much from you and give nothing back. I lied about you. I told Sansa about my parentage when it was the one thing you asked of me, not to tell them. That annulment means nothing. If I was going to tell them, I should have waited until after you had the throne. And left the annulment out of it. I should have done so many things differently.” Jon ran his hands through his hair. “I want you to trust me. To marry me. To be with me. To know, without any doubts, that I love you. And that if you’d let me, I would spend the rest of my life trying to show you that I’m not the stupid, cowardly, green boy I was.”

“Jon-“

“But if not, if you can never trust me again...I understand. I feel sick whenever I think about it. I lied, I diminished you, I abandoned you, I betrayed you. Then I murdered you. How could you possibly trust me? I should count myself fortunate you don’t hate me.”

“I tried to,” Daenerys said lightly. “I am in no position to defend any of what you just said. But-“

“I don’t want you to defend me. It’s indefensible.”

“So was burning Kings Landing.”

“You were poisoned.”

“I might have done it anyway. I was so angry. And when I saw how easy it was to take the city, it felt like I’d had all those losses for nothing. That these people I loved, who I owed my protection, died for nothing. I wanted to punish all of you for holding the lives of Westerosi people of greater value than mine. I wanted to punish those people for rushing in front of Cersei as her human shields. It was not rational, and they were innocent. It’s indefensible, far more than anything anyone else did.”

“I don’t think you’d have done it anyway. But even if you would have...I contributed a lot to the horror and isolation you were subjected to. You weren’t eating or sleeping. I should have done more. I need you to know this. Even if you never trust me again, if you never marry me...I will never ever betray you like that again. I have nothing to give you except my word, and I can’t imagine that means much to you.” 

“It does, Jon. If I believed you would do the same thing I wouldn’t be with you as I have been. I know you’re sorry, and I’m sorry too. Every time I think about all those people I murdered in Kings Landing, I feel physically sick. You walked through the city that day. You saw...I remember you told me there were little children, burned. And like me, I’m fairly sure you would not be with me if you thought I would do that again.”

“Dany, that’s not who you are. I know that’s not who you are. One day’s actions under the influence of grief and horror and hunger and exhaustion, and on top of it all, poison, can’t possibly wipe out all the good you’ve done.”

“That may be, Jon, but the good works I’ve done, can’t wipe out what I did that day.”

“But you didn’t do it. Not now. And Dany, you-“

“I appreciate your trying to alleviate my guilt, but I’m never going to feel better about this. I have to remember it. I have to accept responsibility for it. Because I must never allow myself to do it again.”

“Maybe. And I feel the same about what I did. The difference is that what I did was over a long period of time, not a reaction to horrific trauma. And I wasn’t poisoned.”

Daenerys nodded. “Thank you. For acknowledging all that.” She stood. “I have to start getting dressed. I like to talk to the people. To find out what they need, what they want to see. To help them understand that the Unsullied will protect them now instead of harming them.”

“Harming them?”

“The Unsullied were trained, and were often used, to enact punishments. And part of their training was to murder a baby in front of its mother.”

“Gods,” Jon muttered.

“It was an evil regime, Jon. I need the people to be able to heal from what they’ve been through. It might take years. And some may not heal at all. But I want them to know that they will not be hurt like that again. That they will have power over their own lives and destinies now. That they will choose their rulers, and those rulers will serve them as much as rule them. I wish...” she broke off and shook her head.

“What? What do you wish?”

“I wish I could promise them I’ll keep coming back here, keep ensuring their safety and well being. But I can’t. I can only hope that the rulers they choose don’t betray them. I know Daario won’t. But I can’t know for sure about anyone else.”

“Dany, I’ll do whatever I can to help. I just can’t help but to hope you’ll survive.”

He saw the grief, anger, sadness, despair that washed across her exquisite features, before she covered the emotions with her stoic endurance. “I don’t want to let myself hope.” She smiled then, suddenly. “I can’t help it either, though. To hope, just a little bit.”

She was stripping her bedclothes, and he knew that soon her servants would come to draw her a bath. He could see the bruises on her belly, more now than before. And the scar under her shoulder that was shaped a little like a star, where the crossbow bolt had went into her. The back of her shoulder bore a similar scar. He wanted to take her, to lay with her and protect her somehow from everything.

“I’ll be meeting with Bran soon. And Sansa. They’re going to tell me how things are going with the North.”

“Send them my regards,” she said, donning a robe and sitting down. “I’ll understand if you need to go back.”

“I don’t. I won’t. I’m coming with you.”

Daenerys nodded. She was smiling slightly, happily. Jon walked over to her, kissing her lightly. 

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.”

Jon sat in the council chambers, studying the obsidian candle. Magic, he thought. He remembered hearing in his childhood that magic was all but gone. 

Yet his life in the last few years had been utterly couched in magic. 

He lit the candle at the appointed time, and watched Bran slowly come into focus before him, and beside him sat Sansa.

“Jon, a man is going to attempt to murder Daenerys today,” Bran said. “Sansa heard two men talking about it-“

“They’re sending someone to go among her people and kill her,” Sansa added. “They know she and her guards won’t be expecting an attack.”

Jon stood. “Where? When? I mean when today?”

“Now,” Sansa said urgently.

“He’s in the crowd,” Bran told him. “He’s going to approach her as her people do, call her Mhysa and touch her arm. All of them do it. Then he’s going to stab her.”

Jon stumbled back, his heart pounding. “I have to go.” 

“Yes,” Bran agreed. “The man has shaved his head. He is wearing brown clothes with a yellow sash and he has a scar near his mouth. He has a gold tooth.”

Jon ran from the room and out of the pyramid, through the streets of Astapor, fueled by sheer panic. 

There was no way, he knew, that Daenerys could die, that he would have peace with, save as an old woman safe in her bed. But this...a man touching her and calling her by the name given by those who loved her, to have her last thought before dying, that she’d been betrayed...he had already done it to her in that vision, he would not let it happen now.

He saw the crowds below as he reached the parapet at the edge of the pyramid, saw her little silver haired body, her guards beside her but allowing her to be close to the people. 

How easy it would be to kill her. To rob the world of her, to rob him of this woman he loved more than anything. 

He ran down the steps and into the crowd, pushing against people, his fear building with every minute. He saw the man Bran had described, close, too close, touching her arm, reaching into his sash that hid his dagger. Jon fell against Daenerys, shoving her away from the blade, and Daario stepped forward to catch her.

“Jon! What-“

“What the fuck are you-“

Their voices halted as the killer’s blade plunged into his side, and Jon felt the searing pain, but with it, relief. He turned, despite the agony in his side, his hand on Longclaw’s pommel, but the would-be assassin ran into the crowd.

Grey Worm shouted something in Valyrian and the crowd moved toward the man, but Jon was weakening. He felt his legs starting to give out and he saw Daenerys, her beautiful face pale with fear now.

“Jon, stay with me,” she was saying, but her voice was fading, and then he was unconscious.

******************

Daenerys tried to hold Jon, to keep him from falling. Set Jorah and Daario stepped forward to catch him. Grey Worm shouted into the crowd that the man pushing through them had tried to murder the queen. Daario’s eyes were fixed on some point ahead of him. Daenerys glanced in that direction, and saw that the crowd, in response to Grey Worm’s words, had begun tearing at the assassin. They were beating him, someone had gouged one of his eyes out, someone else had broken his arm. They were making short work of him when Lord Tarly stormed up to him and, after punching him in the face, hoisted his broken body over his shoulder and returned to Daenerys’ side.

“You’ll want him alive for questioning. Did he hurt you?” He asked her, his eyes running over her. 

“Jon’s hurt, we have to get him to a healer,” she said, and Daario lifted him with Grey Worm’s assistance. 

They made their way back to the pyramid. Daenerys was cold with terror. 

She sat and watched the healers working. They looked grim, and her stomach knotted further. 

She had asked to have Kinvara brought to her, and she fought the panic threatening to take over her senses.

The healers, once they’d cleaned and stitched the wound, turned to her, looking at her with such compassion that her heart sank.

“Just say it,” she said through her teeth.

“It’s not good, Your Grace.” The healer went on to describe the injury, the damage it had caused, and Daenerys pressed her hands into her lap to keep them from shaking. 

Kinvara entered the room, and Daenerys stood. “You must save him,” she said. 

“I will try, Your Grace. But as well you know, a sacrifice-“

“You can take me,” Dany said, desperation making her voice tremble.

“My Queen, I cannot. The Lord of Light needs both of you, and-“

“Then the Lord of Light should have stopped this,” she stormed. 

“You are my queen. I can’t-“

“You can. You must. I’m dying anyway, you know it. Please.”

“Even if I wanted to, and I can assure you, I don’t, I couldn’t. You-“

Daenerys stood and snatched up the dagger that had gone into Jon, from the table near the bed.

Why had she not carried Lady Forlorn? Why had she not been more cautious? 

“I’ll do it myself,” she cried fiercely, “I will not let him die.”

Kinvara’s eyes were soft with sympathy, even grief, but also sudden warning.

“Would you make that purchase, my Queen? You know what blood alone buys. Only life.” Daenerys went still, staring at Kinvara, and the priestess continued. “You’ve made the purchase before. You’ve paid in blood alone. Some say death is cleaner. You remember. But my Queen, you’ve also paid the price for true life. You know that price. It’s your House words. And that’s why you know. Even if I wanted to. Even if you were not my Queen. Even if the Lord of Light did not need you. You are favored such that you cannot be sacrificed in the manner required for true life.”

Daenerys’ mind darted nimbly, despite her horror, over solutions. 

“The Masters,” she said. “I burned thousands of them.”

Kinvara’s expression was resigned. “Yes, my Queen. And together their power will provide what is needed. I said the chants as you burned them. I was hoping to use them to save you.”

“Save him,” Daenerys demanded immediately. “Please. There’s some chance I might be saved. But if you don’t do this, he has no chance at all.”

“You’re my queen,” Kinvara repeated, her voice betraying hurt now, grief. 

“Then I command you to save him.”

Kinvara sighed, gave her a long look that was full of heartbreak. Then she began to work, lighting a brazier and chanting quietly. Daenerys watched as the priestess clipped some of Jon’s hair, dropping it into the fire, watched as color returned to Jon’s face. 

Kinvara watched him as well, and then turned to her. “It’s done,” she said.

“Thank you, Kinvara. I’ll never forget this.”

There was a terrible sadness in Kinvara’s eyes, but she squeezed Daenerys’ shoulder and nodded, then left the room.

Daenerys sat on the bed, stroking Jon’s hair tenderly. 

His eyes fluttered then opened, fixing on her. Then they snapped wide open. “Dany,” he said urgently. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, thanks to you,” she said. “How did you know?”

“Bran and Sansa told me this morning at our meeting. Sansa heard two men planning it. You’re sure you’re all right?”

“I am. You took the blade that was meant for me.“

He reached over and took her hand, and unbidden, the memory of that day on the ship, the terrible aftermath of Viserion’s death, swamped her.

She’d sat with him the same way.

The first time he had called her his queen. 

He was watching her and a shadow crossed his features. He was thinking of it too. 

“You said Sansa heard two men planning it?” Dany asked, changing the unspoken subject. “In Kings Landing?”

“Aye. I didn’t get the full story, but I’m sure she and Bran will fill us in. I just rushed out to get to you. It was all I could think about.”

Dany sighed deeply, sadly. “Thank you, Jon.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. I can see it on your face.”

“I just...I’m never going to make any progress with the people in Westeros. They’ll always see me as the Mad King’s daughter.”

“That’s not true. I know it must feel like that. I know how betrayed you must feel. But you have done so much in such a short time. And most of the people know it. No ruler ever had the support of all the people.”

Daenerys laughed softly. “Tyrion said that to me once. It just seems like no matter what I do-“

“Dany, we’ll find out who these men are. And why they wanted you dead.”

“Whatever their reasons, they’ll have to be executed. I know that people don’t approve of my methods, but it must be done.”

“I sincerely doubt anyone will disapprove. They plotted to murder you. The only doubt I have is whether you’ll be able to use your methods. I’m sure if you ask, they’ll wait. But you left Lord Willas and Lady Missandei in charge. We both know they’ll want to execute these men as soon as possible, and they can’t command your dragons.”

“I don’t command them either. A dragon is no slave.”

“You know what I mean.”

Daenerys nodded, then reached over and tenderly brushed Jon’s dark curls away from his face with her fingers. 

“I was so afraid you would die,” she said.

“Likewise.”

“You should rest.” She stood up, leaning over to kiss his forehead. 

“Do you have to go?”

She hesitated. “I suppose not.” 

“Come lay with me.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. I just want you close.”

She understood. Truly, she wanted him close, too. 

She reached for her little bottle of pain medicine. “Here. Have some of this.”

He hesitated, but chuckled a little at her stern expression, and took a little. 

Daenerys climbed into the bed beside him, resting her head against his shoulder. She had almost lost him. His warmth was such comfort to her, the sound of his breathing. 

Thank you, Jon,” she said softly. “You saved my life.”

“Was saving my own,” he grumbled, his voice already sleepy. “I don’t want a life without you in it. A world without you in it.”

She felt herself falling asleep as well, only waking briefly to the news that the Iron Bank had made their official announcement. 

Jon smiled at her. “You did it.”

“We. We all did it.”

She curled against him and fell back to sleep, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot BELIEVE I forgot to do this! Thank you, mykkila09 for the suggestion (way back in chapter 29) to do this! I usually make sure to thank people for suggestions, and I thought I had, but re-reading I see I didn’t! I am so sorry! I am re-reading now because I want to make sure the last few chapters don’t go over things I already covered and I realized I forgot to do this very important thing! Thank you SO MUCH for the idea and suggestion!


	43. Chapter Forty Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry I’ve been remiss in posting! I had cracked a molar sometime back and it turned into this monstrous infection, I was losing my mind from pain. Then just massive depression and anxiety! 
> 
> I want to thank so many of you for all your support and for reading my fic. 
> 
> Water_tiger, I loved your suggestion about Arya and the dragons, I hope I did it justice! 
> 
> 1thirteen3 and ReganX, I adore you both, thank you so much for your insights and support! 
> 
> merjessie, you are AMAZING! I hope I’m in time for your birthday! Happy Birthday to you and many more! 
> 
> This chapter is a little short, I’m sorry about that! I’m hoping to get back into a regular schedule again soon!

Chapter 43

Arya sat in the dragonpit, close to its wall, far from the nest the dragons had built for their eggs. She’d spent most of the afternoon and early evening watching them, and now it was dark. The moonlight glimmered on their scales. The eggs had a shimmer to them, and of late they seemed to shine from within, so that a soft flickering light emanated from them, even at night. 

Arya never approached too close to the dragons, but she knew they recognized her. They knew she was a friend to their mother and so they allowed her presence. The sheer size of them, their magnificence, the first of their species’ return, filled her with breathless awe. There was a grace and majesty about them. They sometimes behaved like cats, playfully nipping and wrestling with each other. 

And then they would lay together, and there was a sound they made that reminded Arya of purring.

Arya had loved dragons as a girl, but never expected she would see one, let alone three. The first time she’d seen them flying over Winterfell, she’d felt exhilaration, even as everyone around her screamed and shuddered in terror. Now, to be left in charge of watching over them, was far beyond any imaginings she’d ever had. Arya did not think they needed her protection, but of course the eggs might be vulnerable. Still, there was always at least one dragon beside them. 

She wondered how it would be to ride one, but she was nowhere near stupid enough to attempt it. She thought when Jon and Daenerys returned, maybe they would take her for a ride. Arya was not going to entertain the notion that Daenerys wouldn’t return. She’d proven herself to be extremely difficult to kill. 

Arya liked her a lot, even loved her now. And Jon, her beloved brother, was in love with her. Arya didn’t care that she and Jon had been found to be cousins, in her heart he was her brother and always would be. Jon, who had given her Needle. Who had always loved her and accepted her as she was, never once trying to fit her into the mold of a proper lady. He was a Targaryen too now. A dragon rider.

Arya remembered how all three of the dragons had roared, perched on the rooftops at Winterfell, when Daenerys had been poisoned. They’d known she was hurt. And Arya could have sworn that, though all three of them knew their mother was in pain, Drogon had actually felt it. 

She had spent much of her days watching the dragons and marveling at their sheer size and power, laughing when they would play, noting their habits. Rhaegal liked to tease, nipping at Viserion’s tail. Arya recalled Jon telling her that the first time he’d ridden, Rhaegal had flown through trees, and gotten Jon slapped with branches and covered with snow. It was done playfully. Affectionately, even. But certainly to tease, as if the giant creature knew Jon was anxious and wanted to scare him a little. Viserion, by contrast, liked to cuddle. Arya had watched her nuzzle against her silver haired mother. Daenerys had told her that Viserion liked to be held, long after she was much too big for it. Viserion had been quite cautious with Tyrion. She was the sweetest of the three dragons, and had eased Tyrion into the experience. Arya knew that despite that gentleness, despite her affectionate nature, she and her brothers were undoubtedly the fiercest things alive.

Rhaegal had sat with the eggs so Viserion could fly for a while, and the cream colored dragon looked golden in the moonlight. 

Viserion returned to her eggs, and Rhaegal nuzzled her. Arya could see how they loved each other. 

Rhaegal started to take off to fly, then landed suddenly; both dragons had tensed as if sensing danger, and Arya could hear a growl from them. She looked around, standing up, her hand on Needle’s pommel. She couldn’t see anyone but...then Rhaegal shrieked, a terrible roar of pain. Rushing over to them could be suicide, Arya knew that much, but something was wrong. 

Rhaegal gave another cry, and Viserion moved as if to comfort him. After a fashion, he calmed again, but sat close to Viserion, both dragons still visibly tense. Arya frowned. Was he hurt, or unwell?

She could ask Bran. He might know whether Rhaegal had had an injury while hunting.

When she reached Bran’s chambers, she saw that Sansa was there, pale, pacing the room, and Meera was sitting beside Bran, watching him. Podrick was watching Sansa sympathetically. 

Bran’s eyes were fixed, he was somewhere else.

“What happened?” Arya asked.

“Jon was stabbed,” Sansa said. 

Arya’s stomach lurched. “Is he all right?” She demanded. 

“I don’t know. Bran is checking.” Sansa was close to tears. “It’s my fault,” she added in a small, trembling voice.

“Your fault? You weren’t even there! How could it be your fault?”

Sansa explained her eventful evening, overhearing a plot to murder Daenerys, rushing back to warn Jon. Jon had run out to protect Daenerys, and had been stabbed. 

“What else could you have done?” Arya asked. “Just let it happen?”

“I don’t know,” Sansa whispered. “I just...”

She broke off as Bran’s eyes cleared. 

“Is he...” Sansa broke off, and Arya fixed her own gaze on him, almost too afraid to speak. 

“He’s going to live,” Bran said. “It was a bad wound. Very serious. The dagger was long and cut into organs. They thought he would die.”

“Are you sure he’ll live?” Arya asked him, annoyed at the trembling in her voice. 

Bran sighed lightly. “Daenerys burned thousands of masters. Her Red Priestess was hoping to use their deaths as a sacrifice to save her. Daenerys commanded her to save Jon instead.”

“So if I had only kept quiet Kinvara could have saved her,” Sansa said. “And now she’s going to die. I only made things worse.”

“Not necessarily,” Bran said. He didn’t elaborate. “I’m going to go for awhile. Visitors are coming.”

“Visitors?” Sansa asked. 

“Coming to Kings Landing,” Bran responded, and he was lost to his visions. 

Meera sat at his side, and turned to Sansa. “Whatever happens, you did the right thing,” she assured her.

Sansa sighed deeply, a sigh that ended in a shudder.

“It just seems like everything I do is the wrong thing,” Sansa murmured. 

“It wasn’t,” Arya insisted. “The men who planned it will be arrested. Maybe you’ll even get your title back.”

“I am not going to get my title back,” Sansa said suddenly fierce. “Not for this. For overhearing a conversation? For making things worse?” 

“You were-“

“Arya, I have been working to earn back my title. This was no work. This was the bare minimum. To not let her be murdered. You don’t really think I’ve fallen that far? That I would let her die?” Sansa looked stricken.

“No, Sansa. I’m not saying-“

“Remember that day...when I was going to say something, but she stopped me?”

“I remember.”

“She burned a letter that would have ruined my reputation with the North. Because of something I did years ago. But as much as I may say I learned, I changed...I didn’t. The thing I did all those years ago, I did again. I told everyone Jon’s secret, after I swore I wouldn’t. If Daenerys was not the person she is, it could have ended with Jon dead. It could have ended with her dead, too. It could have caused a war. I knew it. And I did it anyway. I haven’t earned back anything by trying to stop her murder today. Anyone would have done the same thing. Anyone but a terrible person. I just happened to overhear the conversation, it’s not as if I found out on my own. I’ve been...” she broke off, shaking her head. “Things were terrible for me. All through the war.”

Arya reached for her, but she pulled back. “Sansa-“

“But as terrible as they were, do you know how it was for them? The smallfolk? You do. Because you lived as one of them. Until I was imprisoned by Ramsey, I was sheltered for the most part. At least physically. It was horrible here. Joffrey had Meryn Trant beat me. I thought that the things that happened to me, made me stronger. But they didn’t. Not really. They made me harder. Like a diamond, I thought. But diamonds, hard as they are, they’re brittle. And so was I. Hard and unbending, but so breakable. I had no compassion. I had condescension. I see that now, since I’ve been spending so much time with the orphans here. I’ve been thinking about how Daenerys is always compassionate. She went to fight a war to protect her Essosi people, instead of getting treated. And she would never have been poisoned at all if she hadn’t come North to help us. I will not take my title back even if they offer it to me. Not until I know I earned it.” 

Sansa turned and left the room, and Arya watched her, wanting to go after her, to console her. But Podrick followed her, and Arya decided to go to her room later.

One thing Sansa had said was tugging at her; she had overheard the conversation by chance. Bran was willing to help Daenerys by looking into things for her, but he had said he often didn’t know what he was looking for. His knowledge was too vast. Too many things were happening all over the world. 

Daenerys needed a Master of Whispers. 

Bran had told Arya that Daenerys had dismissed Varys. He knew too much and did too little, she had said.

“Father said exactly the same thing about Varys,” Bran had added. 

Arya didn’t like Varys, but she hadn’t liked Littlefinger either. Were people who acted as spymasters disposed to dishonor? No, it could not be that. Bran had an unlimited capacity for spying, and wasn’t doing evil. 

Arya walked through the hallways to the heavily guarded room where Qyburn was kept. She nodded at the guards and explained that she needed to see him. 

He had been Cersei’s Master of Whispers. 

One guard stood in the room as she approached the old man; whether this was to protect her, or listen to what they said, to ensure no treason was being committed, Arya didn’t know, and she thought both were fair enough motives. 

She sat down across from Qyburn, who was studying her. 

“I don’t get many visitors,” he observed.

“You were Cersei’s Master of Whispers.”

“I was.”

“Your little birds, you took them from Varys.”

“The queen told you about that?”

“No. I figured it out. You’ve been imprisoned. Did they go back to Varys?”

Qyburn laughed. “Oh, no. They belong to the queen now. Not that it matters. Varys and I gave hungry children sweets and little gifts. Sometimes coin. But now...from the short walks I’ve been allowed, I’ve noticed that our trade is all but over, at least in that regard.”

“How so?”

“Have you seen hungry children running through the streets? Homeless street urchins desperate for food? Queen Daenerys has eliminated the motivation these little birds had to give us their whispers. One of my best was rescued personally from the burning city by Daenerys and your brother. He was afraid at first, but in the end he got to ride a dragon. Mere spymasters like Varys and myself can’t hope to compete with that. They are loyal to the queen and only the queen.”

Arya frowned. “Does she know? Do you suppose she’d continue to get information from them?”

“She may know by now. Doubtful she’ll use them for information. She doesn’t like to put children in danger. Why do you ask?”

“There was an attempt on her life today.”

Qyburn sighed. “She’ll always be beset by these attacks.”

“She needs a competent Master of Whispers.”

“She won’t choose me,” Qyburn said. “She doesn’t trust me and I daresay she never will.” Qyburn tilted his head, studying her. “It’s not only children who overhear things. Petyr Baelish used whores.”

“Whores?”

“Men like to talk in brothels. A skilled whore can be more effective than twenty children. A good network could be built, starting in the brothels.” 

Arya nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you.” She stood. “Is there anything I could bring you? In appreciation for this information?” 

Qyburn smiled faintly. “No. I only long for books, and for ink, quill, and parchment. These have all been provided. But please come to me if I can be of assistance. This may seem quite unbelievable, but I truly wish to be of help.”

Arya nodded. She left the chambers, lost in thought. She would attend the next council and ask to work with Ellaria. This could be a good start. 

She knew that tomorrow people would begin arriving at Kings Landing. Bran had mentioned visitors, and Arya knew that the Lords and Ladies, as well as groups of smallfolk chosen by others to represent them, the “people’s councils”, would be coming to discuss what was happening and what the kingdoms needed. 

She knew also that among them would be Gendry; he was Gendry Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Storm Lands now. She had to admit, to herself at least, that she was excited at the prospect of seeing him again. Remembering his crooked smile and inherent goodness filled her with a warmth she hadn’t felt in some time.

*********

Tyrion could see the house Bran had described. It was small, stone, and surrounded by a tall wooden fence. He approached cautiously, his heart in his throat.

Suddenly, a blow to his back sent him sprawling, and he started to roll over but was pushed roughly by a boot, so that he was laying on his back—and the tip of a sword rested at his throat. 

Above the sword, holding it competently, was her.

Tysha. Her lovely face was hard, her eyes biting.

“Why are you here?” She demanded. 

That voice...

_ I loved a maid as fair as summer... _

The same voice that sang in his memory; but there was no song to it now, only steel.

“I wanted to see you,” he said. “To...tell you I’m sorry-“

“You’ve said it. Now leave.”

“Tysha, please, just let me-“

Her eyes lit with fury. The blade was still at his throat, pressing slightly now, and his heart was hammering.

“Do not address me,” she said. “Do not speak my name. You have a lot of nerve. That’s new.”

“I’m sorry,” he began again.

“You said that already. And you used to be so good with words.”

“I love you.”

At that, her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know what love is.”

“I was angry that you lied to me-“

“I never lied to you,” she snarled. “_They_ lied to you. And you believed them. You never came to me. Never trusted me.” 

Tyrion was staring at her, a cold dread mounting in him. “They lied?”

“I loved you. I was never a whore. Not until you and your filthy family made me one.”

Tyrion was gripped with rage and horror. “You...you loved me?”

“And even if it was true that I was a maiden whore - and you know I was a virgin the first time you had me - you believed I deserved to be raped by your father’s men. _You. _ You raped me. After all of them. In front of them.”

“Tysha, I’m so sorry-“

“You are sorry. A sorry excuse for a man.”

“My family-“

“Oh, yes. Your family. You commit such vile horrors and say it’s in the name of family. Everything you do, every murder, every rape, every horror you commit. All of you, you call yourselves nobles, but none of you are noble. You are all vile cowards, abusers who commit your atrocities, and claim they were in service to your family. You should change your sigil from a lion to a rat.”

“What can I do?”

“You can leave here and never come back. Because the next time you do, I will kill you.”

“You’ve learned to use a sword,” he said. 

“Oh, yes.” She smiled then, and it was a cold smile that felt like it sliced into his belly. “Sword and bow and spear and my own hands. I can kill you more ways than you can imagine in that swelled head I used to admire. I swore no man would ever do to me again what you did. I spent years planning in my head what I would say to you if I saw you again."

“I can marry you, Tysha. My father is dead-“

Her bitter laugh cut off his words. “I should have known. No way you’d have the balls to come here otherwise.”

“I killed him.”

“Did you? A few years too late. As much as I once loved you, I hate you now. If only you'd been afraid to rape me, repelled by your father and his men...instead of complicit...if you had fought for my honor instead of helping to defile me, you might have had a chance. I never want to see you again. If you come back here, I will kill you. I will cut you open and leave you for the birds to pick apart. I swear it. And I don’t care if what’s left of your family comes after me for it.”

Tyrion felt as if he were bleeding. The only sensation stronger than his anguish, was his rage. Rage that his father had lied to him. Rage at himself for what he’d done. 

“Do it,” he finally said. “Kill me. If it’s what you wish. I won’t fight you.”

“No, Tyrion. I’m not going to kill you this time. I’ll let you live with yourself, and hope that you know what a shit you are. But don’t come back. You betrayed me. You mistrusted me. I loved you with my entire soul and you watched all those men rape me. Then you raped me. And of course in your infinite conceit, you came here and expected me to take you back to my bed. Delusional, low creature that you are. You are your father all over again.” She moved the sword from his throat. “Leave.”

Tyrion stood slowly, as if in physical pain. For the first time, maybe ever, he had nothing to say. 

Except the one thing he’d come here to tell her. 

“For what it’s worth, Tysha...I love you. And I’m sorry. I’ll never forgive myself.”

“That makes two of us. Goodbye, Tyrion.” 

*******

Jon had slept deeply, waking to see Daenerys smiling at him. She was dressed to go out, and he started to sit up. 

“No, don’t get up,” Dany said quickly. “You need rest.”

“Where are you going?”

“To speak with the people. They didn’t have a chance to finish, I need to see them.”

“Dany, you were almost killed. You’re going to go right back?”

“Of course. I’m bringing my sword this time, and my guards will be much more wary. If I stopped doing things every time somebody tried to kill me, I’d never do anything.”

“I’m coming with you.” 

She opened her mouth to argue, but something in his face stopped her. 

“All right,” she said. “But be careful.”

He stayed by her side as she spoke with the people, listened to what they had to say. He noted that they too were protective, looking around to make sure no one was going to try to harm her. 

She had a council meeting next, and it was one of the last she would have in Essos before leaving. She invited Jon, as she had done with all her council meetings. 

They were discussing Meereen; she’d had irrigation trenches dug when she’d ruled there, and had beans, wheat and grapes planted. She’d also had olive trees planted, as the masters had burned the ancient trees that had been there before, out of spite. The new trees hadn’t produced a full harvest yet, but had just begun to bear fruit. 

He watched Daenerys as she planned, talking of guilds and libraries and possibilities. Her eyes were alight with excitement. 

She and Daario fell into a debate over fighting pits; Daario was in favor of them, Daenerys was firmly against them, and it was apparent they’d had this debate before. 

“What if if wasn’t to the death? They could fight, but without actually killing each other,” Daario suggested. 

Daenerys frowned at that. “It could get them killed anyway,” she pointed out. 

“Well, sure. But with slavery gone, no one would ever be forced into it. No prisoners made to fight. Nothing like that. Just a fight. We could establish rules for determining who wins. They do something like it in your Westeros too; not exactly the same, but similar. Tourneys, I think they’re called.” 

Daenerys glanced at Jon and then Ser Jorah, and they both began to describe the rules of a tourney. 

“You’ll have to take measures to ensure this is always freely chosen,” she said. “I don’t want anyone forced into it.”

“Absolutely,” Daario assured her. 

She sighed deeply. “This will ultimately be your decision, you and the rest of the council. The people, really. I’ll be...back in Westeros.” 

“They’ve voted you onto the councils. All three cites here. And Volantis. Your word holds a lot of weight.” 

“I understand that, and I appreciate it. But it’s important for them to be able to make decisions independent of my opinion.”

She didn’t like the idea. Jon could see it in her face.

He walked with her after the council to her rooms, where they sat to eat. 

There were shadows under her eyes, and he urged her to rest, but she was insistent that she had to go over some missives she’d received, and things she herself had to commit to writing. 

“You should rest,” she told him. “You were stabbed only yesterday. Go on. I’ll join you when I’m done reading these.”

Jon sighed. He didn’t want to be away from her now, not after yesterday, but the bed they shared was only a few feet from the table where she sat. 

He poured her a cup of wine, sliding it toward her. She smiled gratefully and drank. He poured himself a cup as well and walked to the bed.

She would glance up every now and then, tell him about letters that concerned her. He realized that she wanted his opinion, his thoughts on the matters she was working on. Yet she never attended any Northern council. 

He realized suddenly that he wanted her there. He wanted her opinion as well. Of course, it didn’t matter now. He had abdicated, and they were leaving in a few days. 

He felt the wine softening his muscles, easing him into sleep. 

When he woke, the sun was high, painting glorious light across the walls. He saw Dany’s chair, empty, and his breath hitched; but she was outside, on the terrace. He walked to her, wrapping his arms around her. Then he saw her face, streaked with tears. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked tenderly, but she was quickly wiping at them, smiling at him. 

“Nothing. I’m fine. How are you feeling?”

“Dany-“

“I can give you some more of my pain medicine. Are you in pain?”

“I’m not in pain. What’s wrong?”

She sighed, turned back to look out at the city. “I’m all right,” she said softly. 

Jon could feel the tension in her shoulders, and started rubbing them, earning a smile from her, a glance back full of warmth and gratitude. 

She felt so small, so fragile. Her arms and shoulders were toned now, more so than they had been, from all her training. He knew she was fierce. But inside her, there was damage. And it was killing her. 

He had to acknowledge that it hurt him to know she wouldn’t tell him what had her crying. 

He was torn now, between wanting to coax her to let him in, and shame at what had happened between them the last time she had. 

“I don’t want to pressure you to tell me why you’re crying,” he said carefully. “But is there anything I can do?”

“I’m not crying anymore,” she said stubbornly. And then, as if hearing the stubbornness in her own voice, she broke into a quick, watery laugh. “All right. I was crying. I was thinking about Kings Landing. I remember it, Jon. Clearly. Are you supposed to remember? The things you do under the influence of the poison? I don’t know. Maybe in that life Qyburn never-“

“Bran checked. He did.”

“I remember it,” she repeated. “It’s as if it’s burned a hole or cut into me, and it will never really heal. Do you ever have nightmares about what you saw that day?”

He nodded reluctantly. “Sometimes. You probably remember it clearly because it was a vision. Why are you trying so hard not to forgive yourself?”

“I don’t want to accept an excuse for what happened. I have a temper.”

“A temper, yes. But you don’t attack innocents, Dany. I’ve heard many tales about you. Even the day you took the Unsullied. You told them to kill the masters, but harm no child.”

She looked out over the city. “I...I can’t just forgive it, Jon.”

“I can’t forgive myself either. And I actually did some of the same things. I didn’t stand up for you or demand the North respect you. I stupidly broke things off with you when I found out about my parents.”

“Jon, you broke things off with me because of how you felt. Your feelings are not stupid. If you feel this way about the incest, you should not feel pressured to be in a relationship of that nature with me.”

“That was then,” he said. “And we’d only known each other a short time. I had to get used to the idea. Now I wouldn’t give a fuck if I found out you were my sister. I love you. I want to marry you.” 

She stared at him for a moment. Her eyes were full of tenderness, and then, suddenly, she started laughing. 

“You’d marry me if I were your sister?” 

Then he started laughing as well. “I would. You wouldn’t?”

She shrugged. “When I was growing up I thought I was going to marry Viserys. It wouldn’t matter so much to me.” 

“It doesn’t matter to me anymore either.” They stood in silence, watching the city bustle below. “Dany, I have to ask you something. You’ve invited me to sit in on these meetings. Yet you never sit in on the North. Why?”

“I don’t sit in on the meetings with the North because they’re still independent.”

“Why invite me to your councils then?”

She looked at him, a fast, intense glance, searching his face. 

“You’re a king,” she finally said, looking back at the city.

“Not anymore.”

“I wanted you to know them. The people here. Their strengths. Their needs. It will help, should anyone here need assistance with trade in Westeros. Or general relations. They can rely on Missandei and Grey Worm, and the Essosi people in Westeros to assist them. But if I’m not there, and one day they need...” she broke off, sighing. “Before long you’ll be the only one with a connection to a dragon. You’re a good man, Jon. They may never need help to that degree. But if they do, I was hoping if you saw them, if they were real to you...”

“I give you my word, Dany. I’ll help them. But I’m not sure if I can do what you did here. Irrigation ditches and planting and-“

“Of course you could. But you likely won’t have to. Not here.” She turned to him, to face him fully. “Do you remember when I asked you to build the new world with me?”

Jon nodded, carefully trying to conceal the anguish that speared through him. 

“Hard to forget,” he noted. “It was after I’d told Sansa about my parents, and she’d told Tyrion. After I had refused you the one thing you asked of me after you saved us all, and my own life twice.” He took a breath. “And right before I murdered you.”

“Let’s not forget it was also after I slaughtered a city,” she said. “And after I made a speech stating that I would continue to do so.”

“You were poisoned.”

“You didn’t know that at the time.”

“I didn’t kill you for slaughtering the city. I killed you because-“

“I know why. And you didn’t want to build a world with me if that’s how I was going to do it. But now you’ve seen...what it was I truly wanted, what I’ve been doing, what I’m hoping to do...what about now?”

“Now? Dany, you’re building the new world already.”

“Foundations. It’s only the foundations. If that vision hadn’t been granted me, I would already be dead. History would remember me as a monster. Everyone who would have defended me would be dead. You said Grey Worm went to Naath. What of the Butterfly Fever? He and his men would have died. And you saw what happened here in the Bay of Dragons. It would have only been a matter of time before all those people would be in chains again.” 

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. 

“Jon, you came here with me, you helped us fight. You brought an army. You’ve saved my life, on a few occasions. It’s not the same now.”

“You never needed me. I needed you. But without me, you’d have taken your throne and been fine. You’d have won this war, too.”

“Without you, we never would have been united against the Night King and we’d all be corpses.”

“Dany, you would have-“

“I would not have even known.” 

“Someone would have told you,” he argued.

“Who? Let’s say that Sansa managed to take back Winterfell with only House Mormont and the Vale, since the free folk would have been far less likely to help if you hadn’t been there. She would not have come to me. She’d have ignored my message or sent an emissary. And I might not have listened to an emissary. Your actions saved all of humanity.”

“So did yours.”

She sighed again. “I’ve been given a chance to right the things I did wrong. I’m sure I still made mistakes. But nowhere near like before. And now the foundations are there. For the new world.”

“A good world,” he said softly. 

She nodded. “Or at least a better world. Better than I found it. But there’s a lot more to be done.”

“And you don’t want me to be with you now. To build it with you. Because I betrayed you in every way.”

“What I’m asking you now, all of you, is a little different. I don’t think it’s meaningless that I drank poison on the day I should have died.”

“Should have died?”

“You know what I mean. Would have died. I would love to be in a position where we could consider whether to be with each other. I love you. But I’m not in that position. I can’t ask you now to build the new world with me. I’m asking you, all of you, to build the new world without me.”

Jon felt suddenly ill. “Dany...”

“Just think about it. Please.”

He placed his hands around her face, cupping it tenderly between them. “I will do everything I can to follow through on the things you’ve started building. I promise. But Dany... please... I need you. The world needs you. We have to get back to Kings Landing as soon as possible.”

She smiled again, and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you, Jon.”

Jon held her as if his life depended on it; and he felt as if it did. 

“I’ve written out the names of those who chose to be paid in land,” she went on when Jon could bring himself to let go of her. “There were few of them. Some want land in the North, and you’ll have to see to that. I’ve written a decree for the men who want southern land; there weren’t many, and Lord Willas will grant it to them. Most wanted gold. What about you?”

“Me?”

“How do you want to be paid for coming to fight?”

“I don’t.”

He felt her sighing again. “Ser Jorah and Lord Tarly have already distributed gold to the men who wished it, and I’ve started writing up the papers to legitimize you. What name do you want me to write? Aegon or Jon?”

“Remember you said that Lord Stark had named me for Jon Arryn? The man who was like a father to him. And then he was a father to me. It’s...meaningful. It’s the name I’ve always had. And it doesn’t feel right anyway to use the name of a brother who died as a babe. Because of me, really.”

“Not because of you,” she said fiercely.

He sighed. He knew now that they would both blame themselves for things and would always defend each other. Even to each other. “Jon. I’ve always been Jon.”

She nodded. “All right. I’ll write the decree today. I should have done it before we left Westeros. I’m sorry.” He started to tell her she had no reason to be sorry, but she continued. “I don’t think you should abdicate. Not now. I am grateful to you that you are willing to leave the North to be with my dragons. I don’t even know if ‘grateful’ is the right word. It doesn’t seem strong enough. But you’ve said the North is in conflict. You’ve named Ser Davos your Hand. Why should they accept his authority, if they know you’ve abdicated? Sansa doesn’t have her title...though you may reconsider that, in light of-“

“No,” he said. “I’m grateful to her for the warning, but she hasn’t earned back a title she lost by repeatedly trying to undermine and endanger you, just because she didn’t allow you to be murdered.”

“I see. And Bran has accepted a place on my council. Maybe Arya would want to go North and rule, but-“

“She won’t,” Jon said with another sigh. “I see what you’re saying. I should wait until the conflict is over so they’ll accept Ser Davos’ authority, to announce my abdication.”

“If by then you still want to.”

“I will.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Jon. For agreeing to care for my children. They’ll miss me. They’ll need love.” 

“I’ll love them, Dany. I’m so sorry my actions made you doubt it.” 

“I’m sorry for many of my own actions,” she murmured. She raised her eyes to his. “I love you,” she said. 

“I love you, Dany.” 

_Now and always_, he thought. But he’d poisoned those words and could never say them to her again. 

She looked tired, he noted. The shadows under her eyes had darkened. 

“You should rest,” he said. “Isn’t Kinvara going to give you a potion? For the trip?” 

“She gave it to me. I haven’t taken it yet. I want to wait until we’re leaving.” 

He wrapped his arms around her and scooped her up, carrying her to the bed. 

“Rest,” he repeated, laying her down and kissing her forehead. She smiled up at him, then settled into the bed. 

“Maybe I will. Just for an hour or two.” 

Once she’d drifted into sleep, Jon planted another kiss on her forehead. Then he left the room. He had to see Kinvara. 

Jon entered Kinvara’s room, noting her expression; she’d expected him.

“How can I help you, Jon Snow? Or are you using Aegon Targaryen now?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “But it’s Jon. It will be Jon Targaryen. I have a request. Please.”

“Go on.”

“If Daenerys dies, take my life for hers.”

Kinvara smiled. “In all my years, I’ve never met two people as anxious to die for each other as the two of you,” she said.

“I don’t want to live without her.” _I did it once. Never again. _

“I understand that. But you must know she will feel the same way.”

“All right, forget my feelings. Think of all she’s done,” Jon argued.

“Of course, but she will point out all you’ve done.”

Jon’s heart was hammering. Words had never been his gift, the art of debate was lost to him. He could only speak the truth and hope it hit the mark. But he felt as if he were fighting for his life. 

“Think of what she _will_ do, then,” he said finally. “If she lives. No one else can do what she’s done. What she will do. You must know, there’s nothing, no one, anywhere in the world, as important as her.”

Kinvara studied him. “I’ve given her a potion. I told her it was the last one. They get weaker, and their effects wear off sooner, the more she uses it. This one will last perhaps a fortnight. Then she’ll start to need her pain medicine again. She will stay in her travels as long as she can, because she does not believe the surgery can save her.”

“Can it?”

“It can. But it’s impossible to know if it will.”

Jon shuddered. “If it doesn’t...”

“I have something...but you must give me your word you won’t tell her.”

“I can’t do that.”

“If you tell her, it could mean her death.”

Jon felt an icy chill crawl down his back. “All right. I give you my word I won’t tell her.”

Kinvara walked to her supply case, retrieving a small bottle. “This is the last dosage that will help her. She doesn’t intend to come back to Kings Landing until it’s absolutely necessary, and by then it might be too late. You know her. She’ll put it off if she knows there’s one more, and the effects of this one will only last a day or two at most.”

Jon took the bottle. “How will I know when to give it to her?”

Kinvara looked at him sadly. “You’ll know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been just so depressed it’s been hard to write, but I’ve read some truly amazing fics, and I just wanted to say thank you so much to the amazing authors! 
> 
> Here are some wonderful, fantastic fics I’ve had the pleasure of reading while I was too depressed or in pain to write: 
> 
> Gone Girl by 1thirteen3 
> 
> Forewarned by ReganX 
> 
> (And everything else they’ve written is also phenomenal) 
> 
> The Nightmare in Her Dreams by esm3rald
> 
> The Kingdom of Ice and Fire by WhiteDragonWolf 
> 
> There are a bunch more. I’m so sorry if I’m forgetting!


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